My chasms are the lines in fingerprints,
microscopic and often mocked
by those who cross canyons
and cannot relate or compare.

They peer in from a safe distance,
sometimes squinting from many miles,
often reminiscing and guessing
from many moons or many rooms or many tombs.

They sink their fangs into zero truth;
they cling to conjecture and rumors.

This used to bother me so.
I used to scream within and without,
struggling to be understood and accepted.
Today, I observe. I contemplate but don't care.
I'm immune to the judgement and stares.

As Is - NaPoWriMo 2014, Day 3

Illegal Alien / Pearls Before Swine