I cannot reach the fruit on the tall tree in the woods
And all the men next to me are always telling me
C'mon man, just reach up high and grab one
C'mon man, the fruit tastes so very delicious
C'mon man, every real man here can, go on
C'mon man, you can't be that small, grab one like the rest of us

Well I am
And I cannot reach the fruit they can
So I will walk further in the forest
To find a tree small enough for me

And I see
Another boy like me
Picking the fruit of the small tree
And I will say
C'mon man, let us eat the fruit together
Because surly
The tall tree is not meant for us boys.

I’ve got this wild hair,
and it’s a real humdinger.
goes everywhere with me,
whispering, shouting,
whatever the hell it wants:

“dance in the fire.”
“go talk to her.”
“drive straight into that lake.”
“what’ve you got to lose?”
“**** it.”
“jump.”

it’s gnarly, tangled,
never stays down,
a rebellious little ****.

some of my best mistakes
have come from it, too:

“one more,
come on.
what’s the worst that could happen?”

“**** the trail,
it’ll take too long.
just run down the side
of the mountain.”

“ok, sure—
let’s pack up
and move across the country again.”

everyone’s got one,
standing tall somewhere,
poking out like a flag
on a battlefield of sameness,
a single, defiant kite
riding the sky
above the canopy.

those wild ones,
they’re the beauties.
the rogue strands
growing their own way
when everything else
marches in a straight line.

I love those wild hairs.
the ones that scream
against the comb,
flip off the barber,
and refuse to lay flat.

the ones that urge us
deeper into the unknown,
to take chances—
to risk ourselves despite everything.

the funny thing is,
I think
God had one, too—

when He made us.

We’re different, you and me, we’re different
As if we’re made in different worlds indeed,
As if we’re fed on different dew furthermore,
As if we’re covered by different felt on creed.

We’re strange, you and me, we’re strange.
We should go away in all directions, in whole,
Not to be for all, not to touch each other,
To be walled-up behind different walls at all.

We’re crazy, you and me, we’re crazy.
We’ve tried to run away both so often.
But our fate has marked us with a “cancel” sign
And simply decided not let us go, just no one.

We’re different, you and me, we’re different
As if bitter frost and caressing spring in other way.
We have different palettes, you and me, different palettes.
But the canvas is one, one for two of us, anyway.

And we have to paint our further life by the will of fate,
In four hands on one canvas therefore.
You know, I don’t like to paint and I’m not good at it.
I’ll better hold the palettes for you evermore.

And so should the strongest
Make love to the link worn delicate?
In that communion,
As one to another companion,
We seal the cracks & breaks
That have started to leak.
We bind what made us weak.
We champion truth
And honor accuracy;
Don your hood,
But don't go robbing.
Love passionately, but love gently.
Do so with forthright honesty,
Do not play at it or fake it
Lest you forsake it.
From what seems as less than
We shall reveal the hidden,
As a marvelous miracle unwinding.
It's all perspective,
For though I think them no greater
They are more than certainly my equals.
I would live for them as I would die for them,
One & all.

You're different today,
I hope that doesn't mean,
You're diverging.
Because my nation,
Isn't functional without your aid,
I'm not ready for independence yet.

"Athens and Sparta, two Greek city states, developed divergent values despite being of one nation."

you're Not like the others

Everybody writes about
soft touches, and Gentle laughter
being nice and never Hurting a soul

but that's not You.
you Carve marks into my skin
and when you laugh, really Laugh
it isn't gentle its loud and Fun.

you're not Scared to say what bothers you
not scared to hurt if they hurt You.

but when we talk a Serious talk
I'm not scared, or anxious, or mad
i feel safe, acknowledged and Loved.

you're Not like the others, you're you
and to be honest, i Love you.


L