The word hangs heavy in the air, but I don't know what it means.
I'm just me. Just like you are you.
I was born this way I guess. This is what's normal to me.
The word makes me see that most people aren't like me.
But who's to say that you aren't the ones that are broken?
The word sticks fast to my tongue.
The taste is bitter in my mouth. I know that it tastes worse to you.
I was born this way. Is that really the word for me?
It sounds bad. From the look on your face it is bad.
Do you even know that it means?
I don't want to be bad. I'm just me.
The word is stuck in my throat.
I can't swallow it down, not now that you have tainted it.
Your preconceived notions have turned me into a monster.
I wasn't a monster a moment ago.
What changed? The name?
You have defined me.
The word burns in my stomach.
The world feels different around me. All hard edges and no smiles.
I'm still just me. The same me as before.
But now a word in your brain means that I don't belong.
You are the one that has made me broken.
In this poem, the word sociopath could be replaced with many different things. Things that people are born with, things that we can't control. This poem could just as easily have the word gay at the top, or transgender, or any number of other things.
Just something to think about.