If being different is considered a flaw, a sin or a trait to be shamed,
Then hang me, for the quality prized in my soul is not being the same-
As the humans around me, whose eyes 'cept mine are dull as the rain?
Golden and gleaming yet bound to the night by an inevitable crescent,
Scepticism assessing, sifting through creatures with scent,
Composed of quirks and peculiarities, focus never on the present.
Flashing neurons and delicate imagery, spiralling notes in my brain,
When you call me strange, as I know you will, I will take it as a compliment...