Identity

A poem about my experience with Down Syndrome children

When I was young and even now,

I looked in the mirror with a frown

Image distorted and eyes filled with tears,

Praying for my features to disappear

Red lips and blue eyes I did not possess,

Nor belief that beauty could be meaningless

So, there I sat, feeling far from blessed,

Unable to see past what made me different

It was when I was nine, or around that age,

That my poor self-image manifested to shame

I cried to my mother, feeling useless and lost

Begging to miss Scouts at whatever the cost

I went nonetheless, for today was special

We'd make new friends, but

To me it was a game of pretend

My friends were judgmental, callous, plain mean;

It'd be impossible for them to be sweet

Little did we know what was coming our way

As we approached a pair of foreboding, yellow gates

Upon entry we were greeted by the strangest of sounds,

Yet still laughter could be heard all around

All froze in their tracks as we walked about the class,

Afraid of speaking for fear of attack

The faces we passed seemed honest, sincere,

Though my friends were frightened;

Things were foreign here

The room was dark;

The windows locked in a shuttered embrace

Some bowed their heads and others seemed dazed

As we approached the front, where all could see

My friends looks of malice toward the enemy

They feared, of course, what they could not understand,

So has been the case with many a man

I gripped my tin of cakes, amazed by the sight,

Suddenly pitying the girl by the window far right

She sat in her desk, hair all askew,

As she watched us enter two by two

Her glasses slipped from the bridge of her nose

And she had to push them back to see up close

Still, she smiled at something unseen

As I brushed past my friends into the fleet

I extended my hand and pronounced my name,

Which she took gratefully and returned the same

The cake I offered was much appreciated,

A peace offering between our divided nations

It was here I learned a lesson most sweet

That life isn't simple, all are unique,

And if we judge by simply what's seen

We condemn ourselves to an obsession of identity.