These are my eyes
they see only what I see.
My red is my red, blue, blue
My vision of God, my feelings of love.
My thoughts, atypical, unique.
It is not that I wished it this way,
it is as it always has been.
There has never been anyone like me,
and there never will be.
I can't help being me,
I don't do it on purpose.
If you asked me “Do you believe in God?”
I would have to reply, “In order to answer that question honestly,
I would have to know what your rendition of God was, completely, and I don't think that is possible. ”
And so it goes,
one person looking through their own tiny little holes
at their own world, thinking that others see it the same way they do.  
Though we think it is the same, it can not be.
It is in that thought that I find Power.
In the uniqueness of being.
Together we make up a whole.
Some parts at peace and healthy,
some ridden with the cancer of hate and revenge, misled by ancient beliefs,
and yet it is there that I find my purpose for being here.
In the power of just being here.
To witness myself in this fleshy body, and in the collective body as well.