Why is it so difficult
To keep my head held high?
Why is it so hard
To fit in with friends?

I’m like a jigsaw puzzle piece
My piece is different
My corners are too sharp
My sides are too broad
I don’t fit within the puzzle
Of my clique of friends
Their puzzle is a portrait
Of a laughing bunch of kids

But. . . .

One lonely spot is empty
Where the moon resides
The spot where it glows brightly
Above their laughing grins
Isn’t that my place?
Isn’t that where I fit?

No. . . . .

I’m tossed aside
I’m lying in a dusty corner
Alone and discarded,
A rejected piece
I watch as the little girl
Finds the missing piece
And places it snuggly
Into its own little spot

And. . . . .

I wonder. . . .

Is there another puzzle
Where I fit?