Since long before I remember, Just through Story
I’ve always been an anomaly.
The Bird that Prefers Walking
The Dyeing tree in the Spring
A Mime Who loves talking
A choir-girl who won’t sing
My thoughts do not come from a common place
But from a world full of complications and haste
I find no humor in the common air
I find no sadness in these normal waters
I find no hurt in the common tears
When people think cooler, I think hotter.
Since I am Not Justified
Others are simply Terrified
Anomalies ruin common thought
So I am shunned to the corner to sit there to rot.
While hurt and confusion bring me such tears,
I’ve learned to ignore the most potent jeers.
It scares me sometimes, why’m i like this?
Why I can’t understand their desires, hopes, even their bracelets on their wrists.
I’ve never drank from the common fountain
and if I were to try, my body would treat it like poison.
So I’ll walk this path alone until I find
Another anomaly with an open mind
Maybe I won’t be the glue without hold.
Maybe I’ll be the rock that turns to gold.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Since long before I remember, Just through Story
I’ve always been an anomaly.
The Bird that Prefers Walking
The Dyeing tree in the Spring
A Mime Who loves talking
A choir-girl who won’t sing
My thoughts do not come from a common place
But from a world full of complications and haste
I find no humor in the common air
I find no sadness in these normal waters
I find no hurt in the common tears
When people think cooler, I think hotter.
Since I am Not Justified
Others are simply Terrified
Anomalies ruin common thought
So I am shunned to the corner to sit there to rot.
While hurt and confusion bring me such tears,
I’ve learned to ignore the most potent jeers.
It scares me sometimes, why’m i like this?
Why I can’t understand their desires, hopes, even their bracelets on their wrists.
I’ve never drank from the common fountain
and if I were to try, my body would treat it like poison.
So I’ll walk this path alone until I find
Another anomaly with an open mind
Maybe I won’t be the glue without hold.
Maybe I’ll be the rock that turns to gold.
I Wrote this last month, but I just wanted to add it to the sight.
