Is it wrong
That I glance up at the clouds,
Feeling the wind through my hair,
And dream of a mystifying land
Where one can be accepted no matter what?

Is it wrong
That I choose to wear jeans down past my heels,
Baggy and ripped at the knees,
Unlike all the other boys that wear athletic
Shorts, so unscathed and clean?

Is it wrong
That I ask people about their troubles,
Sometimes doing all in my mortal power
To help them surpass the simple,
Even ones I have not defeated myself?

Is it wrong
That while the few friends I have
Dance around giddily and go to
The most extreme only to impress,
But I only hang back in silent content?

Is it wrong
That I do not laugh when others are hurt,
On their knees in blood stained mud,
And I am there with hand outstretched,
Seeming to always be there in time of need?

Is it wrong
That I do not clap, nor do I support
Ones I do not find worthy of it,
Ones who I find in my perspective to be
Quite cruel and bitterly heartless?

Is it wrong
That I choose to sit in the back,
Observe and question from a far,
And wonder why when I do speak up,
It is only taken as a leaf crying softly in the wind?

Is it wrong
That I choose to be one of a kind,
Not part of the crowd, not swimming along
In the universal current of life,
Being my own group, my own person?

They tell me that you cannot win life
Without backstabbing and betrayal along the way,
No matter who you are inside or how honest you are.

But I believe this can only be this:
**The world can only be changed if someone is willing to take the steps to change it.

Sh, my Darling,
Slip on your mask,
Protect yourself from the poisons
Of the world,
The world we,
The creators,
Builders,
Constructors of such a thing
Have reduced to rubble
Just the same,
And Darling,
If you find your eyelids
Feel heavy and your
Breathing slowed,
Drift away from this
Wasteland in the
Comfort of my arms,
And find a better tomorrow.

You change the song halfway through
like you can't bear to hear a happy ending.
You listen to the beginning without
giving the ending a chance to breathe.

I am your song
and my lungs are gasping for air.


*~ m.w ~

Your angel's wings are broken,
Stained and completely blood soaken.

For he once could soar, once could fly,
But now he's fallen from a place so high.

A place he achieved by none other than you,
But end his life he might just do.

Please, do not worry, do not fret,
Until he's gone, he's happy not just yet.

And with a final smile, and sorrowful sigh,
Your angel must bid you a final *goodbye.