These days

These days, I'm not sure where it is I've come from...
       what it is that has made me the way I seemingly am.

These days, I sit and watch, too often, so many others,
       as hours and days are spent in quick-motion--
                zipping by with little said,
                        and so much apparently understood--
       and I wonder what makes me
                so unlike those I often observe .
                        These days, I wonder what makes me dissimilar,
                                       and why I feel so.

       These days, I find little dissension to my individuality,
                and much agreement to my belief that
                        something inside seems off-color,
                though something not necessarily unsound.

       These days, I question others less,
                and sigh wistfully so much more.

       These days, I find myself lost in thought more often,
                and only find answers after struggling.

       These days, I imagine people avoid me
                with a gaining popularity.

       These days, I wonder about who I truly am.

These days, I relent to disbelief.

These days, I feel alone
       when surrounded by others.

These days, I withdraw
       as a means to protect myself.

I am lost
       in a world of fitting in, these days,

though I cannot fit in.