intoxicating isolation

all my pics of a child have me wid huge frowns at the photographer.
i rarely played wid other kids. dey were always a source of boredom wid d same games - teacher teacher, doctor doctor, huh
no creativity my mind wud protest
i cud spell any word - collars up till now, my dad wud clap partly wid joy and partly at amazement
i cudnt pronounce those words though
he wud ask me wats d purpose of a comma - i wud tell what my mind wud define
he wudnt say whethr i ws right or wrng
he wud ask me - how do u knw
ans : i knew it, its so obivious
he would prattle in front of his friends and i wud smile forcibly
never a problem kid for my mother - always d hungry one i wud gulp down food and go to sleep widout being told to
no studies
to be very frank i wud have fear school going children packed in rickshaws wid school bags hanging from every nook and d mode of transport being driven by a sulky, alchoholic, bearded man wearing rags, limbs too thin to bear d load.
i would put them off my mind and play fearing tht soon this time wud com to an end.
my playmates - plants, little worms(yes), soil, twigs, water
at night the moon - a very close friend who has heard incessant tales of me bragging, crying, laughing, fearing...and more of it
isoltion has been smthng i hv always craved for...till date
der is smthng in it tht makes me so me !!!
i talk to myself, i sing, i enjoy being wid myself
gives me smthng tht nothng else can