At a loss for words,
I sit, observe.
There’s much here to which
I cannot relate;
I observe
and contemplate
the mental anguish
of a body discordant
with self-image,
as in these wild,
possessed,
gender-obsessed
anomalous human beings.

Alone,
one hundred other souls
surround me.
None kindred,
social graces hindered,
some lacking civility, will;
a preponderant immaturity
in their quest for
attention and promiscuity.

I understand
from them I must learn.
And yet, I still yearn
to be away from this place
to be where there’s a trace
of normality to placate
my need for conversation,
mental stimulation,
instead of here where I
observe,
contemplate.

Yet this heavy disdain
serves no purpose.
Is it my jealousy?
Am I worthless
in this situation?

In none I see qualities
I would idolize or emulate
or be desirous to participate.

So I observe.

And am led by what I see
to disdain,
detachment;
a callous assessment
of where it went wrong.

I don’t understand or
relate to these throngs.

And what is it I learn?
(the observations causing consternation)

I am as imperfect as any.

My imperfections
are my own,
as are theirs.
Though I may take measure
of myself by my imperfections,
I must measure others
by their strengths.

So I sit,
observe,
contemplate.

Participate?
In that to which I can’t relate?

One more imperfection
I must remediate.