Belonging

In this whole expansive world
where do I belong?
Where is that little niche
carved out for me,
just me
only me?
Where is that place
made for my heart to rest
and my spirit to dangle?

How can I know
when it is ok to yell to the world,
to let out a resounding laugh,
a full-bodied cry,
a complete and utter dance of delight?
How can I know
when it is ok to tell you exactly how I feel
without being ridiculed
brushed aside
thought insane?

Why does it feel that all others understand
the ways of the world,
that all have found their places in the world,
each with their circumspect delineation of space and time,
and I
forever running in circles
without direction,
one step spiraling onto itself
again and again
forever overflowing with questions?

There are times when all I want is to belong.
I just want to do what others do,
to feel what others feel,
to appear as if I know what is going on.

All I can be sure of is the touch of hands,
each upon the other.
These hands,
so soft
so suple
so gentle
guiding me,
showing me the way,
reminding me that wherever I am,
I belong.