Normal?

Do I want to be normal?
Is that what its all about?
Fighting against the differences I see
Between me and others in the world,
My friends,
Society,
'The norm'.

I always hated being different,
Always afraid of telling the truth
About my likes and dislikes,
About the things I did and the way I felt
When it was different,
Odd,
Not 'the norm'.

And yet so many want to stand out,
To not be 'just another person'
And in many ways I so want that too,
But I guess I want it in other ways,
Like being noticed,
Having significance,
Being remembered.

I guess the ways in which I am 'different'
Are not the differences I want.
I am different in ways that are not seen to be good;
The ways that don't make you 'successful'
Like being unattractive,
Boring,
Dull.

The things I have always fought against,
And hid from as many as possible,
That I never mentioned, and couldn't laugh at myself for,
Because actually it all hurt too much,
Because I never wanted it.
I hated it.
Detested it.

Being ugly,
Being fat,
Not being funny,
Not knowing how to start a conversation,
Not understanding culture,
Not knowing the latest trends,
Or music,
Or celebrities,
And not even caring about those things.

Not being able to talk about surface stuff,
Not finding, 'when I was drunk' stories funny.
Not even wanting to listen to them.
Not wanting to laugh or being able to pretend it doesn't matter,
When someone does something,
or says something that is wrong.
Or that hurts someone,
or is damaging.
Only wanting to have fun when it is pure,
And not finding it fun when it isn't.
Basically being boring,
And highly strung.
-A goody-two-shoes.

Having to shave my facial hair,
Being very very hairy everywhere.
Having lots of spots all over my body.
Having a big tummy,
Big thighs,
Big bum.
Having a flaky scalp - otherwise termed dandruff,
Having horrible hair,
A horrible chin,
A tiny round head.

Having very bad eyesight,
Which I stupidly thought was my fault,
And am really actually very embarrassed about.
Having bad fingernails,
Fat feet with weird little toes,
Horrible shape,
Bad taste in clothes,
In music,
In films.

Never being fancied or having a boyfriend.

I hate all those things about me,
They are things I never said,
Mainly because acknowledging them,
Would make me vulnerable and able to be hurt by them.
So I didn't,
But it hurt anyway.
Really hurt.

I guess I wanted people to like me,
To think I had something to offer.
To feel like being with me added something to their lives,
But all that stuff stopped that happening,
And I hated me for it.
And I still do,
I always will do.

Now I guess I am getting to the age
Where my looks don't matter to people so much anymore,
So I feel like now its my time to be someone.
Its my time for everything to all be better;
So why is it not?
I thought it would be,
But its not.

I still want people to like me,
To feel I have something to offer.
To want to be with me because I add something to their lives,
But even now, at this age, at this time,
I am left alone,
Still vulnerable.
Insignificant.

I am afraid of going by unnoticed.
Living my life but leaving no legacy.
A meaningless existence where I just get by.
Being nobody's everything,
Just another person,
A nobody.
A shell.

I guess its the same for many people - most people,
But many of them have found for themselves
Their own little world within the big world.
A family that they can call their own,
Where they are needed,
Influential,
Important.

I don't have that, so the only place I can make a difference,
Is in the bigger, wider world.
And that is a scary place that is too big for little me,
With all my insecurities, and rubishness
My differences,
Oddness,
Incompleteness.

So I want to be significant, and to make a difference,
But yet want to fit into the normal way of doing that.
It makes no sense, how does that work?
What do I even want?
Who am I?
Nothing.
Empty.

This is my life.
This is my shell.