The Stranger Poem by Ruth White

There is a room, well fit, with people of all kinds.
All of them having a difference of binds.
I stand among them you see.
In this off set room, not made for me.
They talk and they joke and they laugh a loud.
While I drift by them, like a weightless cloud.
There is some of the conversation I do finally get.
But when I speak, it's like I and them have never met.
What is the difference from them and me?
They are all like locks, and I am like a lone key.
Is there a way that my key could find a way to their locks?
Or would I be thrown out by them, and then mocked?
I dare not try, for many reasons untold.
But instead, I stand by and keep a hold.
A few of them stare at me, but none talk back.
So I finally give up, and begin to slack.
Why do I keep trying, if they do not want me here?
While the thought of becoming one of them gives me great fear.
No, no! I cannot be one of them, I dare not try!
But the sight of them ignoring me makes me want to cry.
A few friends, I have, but none see who I truly am.
This room and my friends are separated by a dam.
Sometimes, at night, I wish someone would save me.
And allow me to be who I art to truly be.
Until that final day, I am alone and in danger.
In a room, with my family, feeling like a stranger.