An autobiography starts with the twist
Sinister carrier of chromosome sixteen
Reaching forward and back, the feeling persists
I am not welcome; double devil, unclean.
Yet the roots of my freckled and fumbling frustration
Lie not in these facts but in your expectation.
Part Two: Swan Match
I'm sorry but I won't relate for the masses
The sad tale of those cringe quiet classes
All that carrot-topped Duracell taunting
Wasn;t fun; but nor was it haunting.
Itch ugly years when the sun bullied me
Shedding my skin through a loose untucked tee
Fearing the beach and staying in shade
Are not part of my life I want relayed.
Sensitive chaps - pre-Raphaelite leaning -
See past recessive, but must find meaning
It's no cause when Im cross, that's my own volition
Am not monster or freak, or art-made-flesh Titian.
It's the first thing you notice and to my despair
You're looking at me, yet seeing my hair.
Part Three: Potential Hendrix
At home, it felt like a failure:
Can't-be-dextrous
I'm stumbling at doors, I'm failing at chores
Beaten by a bean tin
At school it seemed like a set up:
Writing runs ragged
I'm knitting in knots, I'm missing key shots
Baffled by backhand.
At college, I'm told it's like this:
Statistical stand out
I'm better in battle, I'm harder to rattle
Tenancious one in ten.
And you, I bet, can't wait to say it:
Born blessed to be backward
I'm howling at moons but writing my tunes
Accepted unasked as an artist.
My vein of though is sinister.
My mind is trapped in a mirror.
I am not clumsy nor art's new saviour
I just belong over here.
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