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Yes, it's powerful. I especially like:
"and he can't
catch them
like
leaves lifted
in a circle
that curl his
arms around him
and his fat tits
cry so hard
and sob"
The fractured form, the enjambment of the phrases and unexpected imagery (fat tits crying) work so well.
Your painfully beautiful poem reminds me of a similarly themed song on R.E.M.'s "Green" album (just forget their later hit "Everybody Hurts"--it means well, but there's no good imagery). I love it, but I can rarely bear to listen because it almost physically hurts me to do so. (The so-called "Village empath"...hmmm.) Like it hurt me to read your poem.
"The Wrong Child"
I’ve watched the children come and go
A late long march into spring
I sit and watch those children
Jump in the tall grass
Leap the sprinkler
Walk in the ground
Bicycle clothespin spokes
The sound the smell of swingset hands
I will try to sing a happy song
I’ll try and make a happy game to play
Come play with me I whispered to my new found friend
Tell me what it’s like to go outside
I’ve never been
Tell me what it’s like to just go outside
I’ve never been
And I never will
I’m not supposed to be like this
I’m not supposed to be like this
But it’s okay
Hey those kids are looking at me
I told my friend myself
Those kids are looking at me
They’re laughing and they’re running over here
They’re laughing and they’re running over here
What do I do?
What can I do?
What should I do?
What do I say?
What can I say?
I said I’m not supposed to be like this
Let’s try to find a happy game to play
Let’s try to find a happy game to play
I’m not supposed to be like this
But it’s okay...okay
***
I just sent out a heady prayer for you, Derek. See you soon, I hope :-) And thanks for sharing your words. | 
