Ungifted

They told me I was one of the ones untouched.

I was uninteresting, unimportant, under average.

All I could offer folks were the hands I was born with.

My dreams of being touched were unattainable, they were un existent.

They flew among the clouds, wings sweeping.

Racing at intrepid speeds, hurtling past like dust in motion.

Their strength could hold one thousand ships,

Reading their minds as they would pass through.

Being told your distinctly average,

Often shows that indeed I am more than most.

I, unlike others seem to be the one that is untouchable.

How can I be un special, unoriginal when I was the only one untouched?

Surely the fact that I am untouchable proves that I am different?

They many swarm the skies,

Dart among the speeding cars,

Hold up the weight of a mountain

Or recall inner thoughts of a mind

But seeing as I am untouchable,

With no superhuman abilities,

At first would create misery inside my beating heart,

As I’ve come to learn, being touched is not some distinguishing gift,

Not some blessing from up high,

Our normal every being is what I treasure hidden inside.

I relish being ungifted.