awkward and easily misunderstood,
he only eats fried food.
hates exercise with a vengeance,
"you're gonna die before me", i always tell him.
he weaves something out of nothing,
in him i found what i was lacking.
pushing through stress, pain and fear,
with pvc, glue, pen and paper.
while the world dreams he's awake,
structures, rhythms, games he creates.
even when he sleeps his eyes are half-open,
his heart in the stars and his mind full of wonder.
to the you who constantly creates,
even when darkness inhibits;
i'm proud of what you've done and made.
you with your weird blue chinese jacket,
unkempt hair and dark eye bags;
constantly tinkering,
shining from within.
