Dearest Gentle Reader,

It’s true. I tried, but I’m tired of masking for you.
I’m not popular, and my phone rarely rings.
I’m simply called awkward, weird, or self-deprecating,
Wearing these labels like tattered old wings.

I don’t have many close friends for this very reason,
Feeling out of sync in every social season.
Don’t lie and tell me I’m not alone,
I have been for years, on my own.

Left to negotiate all of life’s fears,
Wading through loneliness, drowning in tears.
I’ve carried this weight, worn it like skin,
Wishing for a place where I could begin.

But in this solitude, I’ve come to see,
There’s a quiet strength that resides in me.
For though I’m tired, and though I’ve tried,
There’s a spirit in me that won’t be denied.

I took my trauma and chose a new path,
Became an RBT, finding purpose at last.
Helping others through their own dark days,
Guiding them gently through life’s complex maze.

I’ve learned that pain can forge a guide,
Someone who’s walked through the storm and survived.
With empathy and patience, I now stand,
Offering support, lending a hand.

In every struggle, there’s a seed of growth,
A chance to heal, to make an oath.
To turn our wounds into wisdom’s light,
To fight the darkness, embracing the fight.

So though I’m still awkward, still weird, still me,
I’ve found a way to let my spirit be free.
Helping others has become my cure,
And in their progress, I find my own secure.