I Don’t Think I’m Like Most People

I Am Not a Human Being..?

Photo by Trude Jonsson Stangel on Unsplash

No, this isn’t science fiction. No, I don’t have robotic hands or i am not an alien or has it’s DNA.

But if you’ve ever walked through life feeling like a guest in your own skin You’ll understand what I mean.

I am not a human being. Not in the way they say I should be.

Let Me Talk…

I was always a little too quiet. Too sensitive. Too lost in thoughts I couldn’t explain, even to myself.

When others laughed, I smiled gently, wondering what part of the joke I missed.

When others shouted, I blinked as if their temper could physically shatter my world.

When others moved on, I remained. On moments. On words. On wounds that healed for them but never stopped hurting for me.

I am not a human being, at least not in the way most people are.

I Feel Too Much.

And Say Too Little.

I stare at ceilings wondering why people stray apart. I look at strangers and imagine the battles they’re hiding behind tired eyes. I carry emotions like wet clothes attaching to me long after the rain has stopped.

That’s not very human, is it?

Because to be human, in today’s world, is to be fast. Efficient. Adaptable. Forgetful.

But I… I remember everything.

Maybe I’m a Ghost with a Beating Heart.

Somewhere between the present and the past. Haunted not by others, but by myself. My old versions. My could-have-beens. My should-not-have-said-that nights.

I carry invisible bruises from memories no one else can see. And I relive them when the world thinks I’m just scrolling.

I Speak in Silence.

You won’t find me arguing in a crowded room. But if you watch closely, my silence speaks volumes.

If you ever sit with me in quiet, You’ll hear the music I never learned to play. The poetry I never dared to write. The apologies I practiced but never delivered. The dreams I folded like paper planes and hid in the drawer.

I Don’t Belong Everywhere.

And I’ve stopped trying to.

The rooms with small talk drain me. The need to constantly “prove” myself wears me down.

But put me in a quiet corner, With a child who asks strange questions, Or an old man who tells the same story twice, And I feel alive.

If I Am Not a Human Being…

Then maybe I am something

Older. Wiser. Softer.

Maybe I’m a soul that’s been here too long. Or one that’s just arrived.

Maybe I’m a bridge between feeling and logic. Between this world and the one we dream of when we sleep.

Or Maybe…

Maybe I am very much a human being. Just not the kind the world celebrates.

Not the loudest in the room. Not the richest, fastest, trendiest.

But the kind who notices. Who listens when no one is speaking. Who writes to understand. Who cries when no one’s watching. Who loves deeper than he should. And forgives even when it breaks him a little more each time.

So if that’s not “human” in the modern sense…Then no…

I am not a human being.

I’m a feeling. A whisper. A story still being written.

And maybe, Just maybe, That’s the most human thing of all.

See ya there mate!

Peace ✌🏻💖

— Sriram

💙 Keep Writing…Someone Out There Needs Your Words💙

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