It is grey.
For miles and miles,
we see nothing but grey.

Grey is the color of the sky.
Grey is the color clouding everyone’s minds.
Grey be the condition of everyone’s hearts.

The months may come and go,
and people look in vain for the end of grey,
but still it reigns supreme in the heavens.

Bleak and desolate,
it stays on,
for months and months to come.

But what it this?
A patch of blue?
Could it be possible?

Hope screams for release,
in the hearts and souls of thousands,
and in some it succeeds.

But most are wary.
The grey has reigned for so long,
that blue seems but a distant dream.

And the patch widens,
‘til it covers all,
and the sun returns to the heavens.

Hope is reinstated.
Winter is gone,
and spring runs rampant.

He fell down a rabbit hole,
chasing after a crazy dream

He met a rabbit with a waistcoat.
He braved the Red Queen.
He had tea with a caterpillar.
He spoke with talking flowers.

He faced his worst nightmares,
and he lived to tell the tale.

And eventually he crawled back out,
ready to face the world.

But no one believed him.
The more he told,
the more he was scorned.

And he drew farther and farther into himself,
comforting himself with stories and talking flowers,
and a rabbit in a waistcoat.

Soon that was all he had left,
stories and fantasies.

Until one day he plunged back through the rabbit hole,
grasping for a crazy dream.

There he learned the trade of making hats,
but he soon surpassed his masters and peers.

Once again he was scorned,
and he  relocated to an old house with two other outcasts,
making hats and drinking tea to fill his time.

He retreated into himself once again,
this time literally becoming as mad as a hatter,
and this became his title.

And soon no one remembered his true name,
knowing only that was mad,
until his title became his name: the Mad Hatter.

Only one ever tried to know why he was mad,
and her name was Alice.

And in her presence,
he found himself, though still quite mad, less mad.

He even found that he liked it,
though he never let his other mad companions know that.

But she, too, fell back through the rabbit hole,
and he was alone,
with only fantasies and madmen to keep him company.

Until one day many years later he found a woman, wandering,
mumbling about talking flowers and rabbits with waistcoats,
almost as mad as himself.

And her name, he found, was Alice,
and in each other’s presence they found, though they were still quite mad,
they were decidedly less so.

And they found they liked it.

You call me a freak?
You, who has no real friends?
You, who has only followers?
You, who intimidates instead of being friendly?

You call me a freak?
You, who has never studied a day in your life?
You, who reads on a fifth grade level?
You, who is failing all of your classes?

You call me a freak?
You, who calls yourself fat when you’re clearly underweight?
You, who is afraid to eat?
You, who is all stick and bones?

You call me a freak?
You, who wears outrageous, “fashionable” clothes?
You, who wears four-inch heels to gym class?
You, who wears enough hairspray to make your air look like plastic?

Yet you still have the nerve to call me a freak?

You, who smiles confidently when I don’t respond?
You, who widens your eyes when I smile back?
You, who stares speechless when I roll my eyes and walk away?

You, who can’t comprehend why I don’t run away in tears?
You, who doesn’t know why I just walked away?
You, who can’t figure out my true thoughts on you?

I pity you.
I pity you for your fake friends.
I pity you for your future.
But most all, I pity you for the fact that you have to put others down to make yourself feel good.

Life.
It’s hectic. It’s busy.
It’s full of blaring horns and squawking people.

Life.
It’s quiet. It’s serene.
It’s full of rolling meadows and calming waters.

Life.
It’s hateful. It’s frightening.
It’s full of painful sores and dangerous alleys.

Life.
It’s precious. It’s beautiful.
It’s full of laughing children and smiling grandchildren.

Life.
It’s sad. It’s confusing.
It’s full of premature deaths and sobbing loved-ones.

Life.
It’s hopeful. It’s optimistic.
It’s full of outstanding possibilities and wonderful opportunities.

Life.
It’s real.

Dare to dream your own dreams.
Dare to live your own life.
No matter how often it seems,
the world’s sending you strife.

Be who you really are.
Don’t follow the crowd.
And even when this seems bizarre,
In the end you’ll be proud.

Follow your own way.
And never back down.
Don’t let your beliefs sway.
Even when they make others frown.

Study hard now and work hard later.
It may not now seem that essential,
but it’ll make you that much greater
and be an added credential.

So dare to dream your own dreams.
Dare to live your own life.
No matter how often it seems,
the world’s sending you strife.

Where were you when I needed you?
That night not long ago.
I really haven’t really got a clue,
As to why you would sink so low.

That night that I walked while crying,
Wondering when you would come home,
I could not help but think of all your lying,
And how often you did roam.

I had been with you all these years.
Yet you did throw it all away.
All the love and all the tears,
And yet you did still stray.

I know that you were with her,
That night not long ago.
That night where my tears made my vision blur.
And my heart was full of woe.

For, you see, that very night,
Though you did not know,
I was full of pain and fright.
From the hurts that he did blow.

That night that I was walking home,
Without you, though you should have been there.
He came again, hiding behind the dome,
And hurt me without a care.

I struggled, but it did not matter.
He would not halt the blows.
And over my head a bottle he did shatter.
As the blood just flows and flows.

I collapsed, and only then did he think to halt.
He reached into my pocket, as he had done before.
And took the money he so craved, the reason for my assault.
And he walked from my limp body, done from his chore.

Eventually, I suppose, someone found me in the street.
But by then it was far too late.
And over me they lay a sheet.
As I reached Heaven’s Gate.

But do not worry.
I still can’t hate you.
Especially now as I watch your eyes grow blurry.
For, you see, I loved you true.

Though I cannot help but wonder one thing.
Had you not cared to cheat,
And if with me you had been,
Would I not have been beat?

Would I still be alive?
Or was it fate?
That I not thrive?
And now be knocking at Heaven’s Gate?

But, what’s done is done.
There is no going back.
I wish only one thing for you, only one.
That you find happiness, that with me you did so lack.

How do you think it feels,
To have no friends in school?
It’s a feeling that to very few appeals,
Yet here I am, caught because I’m not “cool”.

The others, oh they laugh, at their tables with their friends,
While I move from seat to seat,
Listening to the laughter that never ends,
Being ignored as I sit and eat.

It is not because I am all too shy,
Or have no wish to talk.
Quite honestly, I don’t know why,
They all ignore me as we walk.

I know it’s not because I’m mean,
As I’ve had many friends before.
Maybe it’s that I’m not interested in their scene,
Or maybe it’s just my eyes are far too interested in the floor.

On the rare winter day,
I’m sitting at lunch with my class,
My eyes from my book occasionally will stray,
But only long enough to roll my eyes at some boy’s comment on passing gas.

Then the other days that I do sit,
With the grade above us,
I notice that even there I don’t fit,
Surrounded by talk of the boys on the bus.

Sometimes when I sit with them,
I try to get a word in.
But because of their constant blabbing, to silence I’m condemned,
Tapping my fingers on my shin.

As the school year goes on and on,
I try less and less to talk.
Until the year is almost gone,
And the one last attempt I make makes them gawk.

I stand by the microwave, cold pizza on my plate laying flat,
When one boy comes up and asks,
“What is that?”
I stare at him for a moment as others go on with their tasks.

Finally I respond sarcastically,
“It’s meatloaf. No, it’s pizza. Haven’t you seen it before?”
Though I think I see a tiny smile, he looks at me as if I’d done something drastically,
And just stares at me oddly while opening the microwave door.

I smile a little, thinking of how,
At my old school those words would be normal for me.
But I cannot say things like that now,
As I am not in words or deeds free.

I cannot joke without a funny look,
Or complain about math without a stare.
Because now I am expected to only read my book,
And my smile is supposedly rare.

As he leaves to go back to his table,
Without another word to me,
I think of how I’m now not able,
Truly to be free.

And then I decide from this day forward,
I will just stop trying,
To show I’m not just some nerd,
Who is perpetually sighing.

In the school I shall live in a world of quiet,
Never really showing them my true self.
While my classmates have a riot,
I will be as silent as a doll on a shelf.