Misfit

He was a jigsaw piece,
But one that didn’t fit.
His colours muted
In a world too bright;
His edges rough and ragged,
Whilst others’ were polished smooth.
He did not fit.
No matter how hard he tried.
Sometimes,
He felt the illusion of fitting,
For just a moment, he knew how it would feel
To fit;
To be a part of something larger,
But soon,
Like the misfitting jigsaw piece he was,
He fell away,
Wrong,
This was not his place,
Perhaps there was somewhere else
He did belong,
If only he could find it.

—
Daily poem #956 <not long until a thousand. I keep meaning to stop but I can't