Someone once told me
"You're not like the others."
At that time, I didn't know what they meant.
I was naive,
A sweet child, who listened when the teacher said "be quiet"
Even though the others continued to speak.
I would help clean up after we did crafts, while the others just sat there and waited to be asked.
I was the little girl with very few friends and picked on for all the littlest things.
I loved to read and to write
But I hated math
Horses, puppies, trucks, Barbie, and dirt was my toys
They'd call me "Tom boy"
Because I didn't squeal at bugs,
I would play with them.
But why was I sectioned out?
I have been thinking about it a lot lately.
I know a little of the answer.
The answer showed up many times after my elementary years...
I am different.
I stand for morals and general kindness.
Innocence.
I wasn't like them at all.
Nor can I be.
I was done with fitting in... Before I knew what "fitting in" meant.
I was born a dreamer
A singer, a musician, and a lover
I sang God's praises
Made coherent beats on the piano
And bubbled with excitement in my eyes
But that's not all
I wrote stories
Of love and hate
Of good and bad
Of cherry blossoms in the spring,
And beautiful autumn leaves.
Of snowstorms and of snowmen
Of summer and popsicles
But I spoke a different language
Foreign, but native
My lips produced movements
But the sounds was unheard
But when my lips produced vocals
There was intelligence wrote on my cheeks
And stupid wrote on my forehead.
And again... I was different.
I was different.
That's all I could think about.
Thoughts, wonders, cries of despair clouding my mind with questions of
"Who am I?"
"Who are they?"
"What am I here for?"
"Why can't you stop tormenting me?!"
Why was I blessed with the mind of a scholar, but the social incompetence of the kid on the playground with no friends?!"
I was different.
I was different.
In a world of changing views
I never swerved,
Never fell to society's beliefs
Just my own record of account.
"But, you have to accept them"
"But, you can't worship that here."
"Stop using God's name."
"Don't spit your hypocrisy my way."
"Don't care for the homeless, they did it to themselves."
"Don't care for the boy with the scars on his face because he's not emotionally stable."
"Don't love him."
"You're to young to think about marriage."
"You're to young to think at all."
Well, listen here...
You're to young to think at all.
You're to young to tell me I can't do what I know I can do.
Age is of maturity, not by the number of years you've been on earth.
You humanly divergent kids...
Do not hide under the veil of society,
Do not agree with what you disagree with,
Do not cower from the weight of the world... You're better off divergent.
