You, my darling, are the most exceptional jewel of them all. So why is it that you mirage your gleam with the dirt of the common stones?

From a thousand miles away,
Or at an arm's length,
One could hardly take their eye off
From the spot in a sea of white.

Amid the identical bleats on the grassland,
Stood a distinguished creature -
The only one of his kind -
Legendary, no less magnificent.

Yet, since a little lamb,
he was obscure to the eye of his kin.
They squinted and scanned and studied
him, even liked the lame better.

Never did he understand
The reason behind his isolation,
Why a lovely creature like him
Was born to walk alone.

His traitorous heart longed for more
Yet the soft clouds were not home.
So he wore his color like a badge,
Blazing darkness in delight.
  
On his fours, he staggered forth.

A vortex of emotions
Humming us all in, into beyond infinity
Isn’t vanity a staple in life?
Who are you, inside the armour?
What holds you beneath that mask?
If a storm were to wash us all away;
Like fishes in the yummy Indian curry
What colour shall I look for?
The moon doesn’t tell; perhaps he bluffs
Oblivious to something so indigent
The sun and the stars don’t know either
It takes forever to find you, trodden somewhere in the dusty alley
Nature sings for me, perplexed you wonder
Nothing shines at my beck & call
And my own eccentricity lacks the colour desired
But I have a scent of my own
An emotion of love, as fallible as it gets.
Placid & inexplicable; quite not as its known.

Do not give me a
Structure to follow
When you tell me to
Be diverse and myself
In this rigid *******
World

Sometimes I wonder
All the time actually
   if it's bad that I think about things like this

You've given me very few reasons to feel
Any way that isn't bliss
   but I still find myself questioning
   things I shouldn't think

I ask myself
What it means to
Be In Love
   because in the end
   isn't it just a word?
   even though I know it's a feeling too.

I ask myself
   why do I always put you first?
   and forget about myself
Because I'm good at blending in
I'm good at conforming
   to avoid conflict
   and make myself more likeable

In the end,
I'm not outstanding.
I'm not really funny
                    or interesting
                    or unique
I'm not really very pretty either.

So is that why I conform?
To be what I imagine you want
Because I'm afraid of losing you
   even though you've never given me a reason
   to believe that you'd leave me
   if I were anything but myself

Is it really Love
If I ask these questions?

Will I ever find an exact match?
Someone who thinks like me
    or act as I'd expect?
Because my expectations are unrealistically high
So I'd never find someone better, right?

I blame the movies.

Scraped up knees
And muddy boots;
Denim overalls
And the bow she shoots.
She’s known for climbing trees
And running loose;
Facing adventure with ease,
And putting her imagination to good use.

A little girl in a Big Boy’s world,
She always knew she didn’t fit in.
Trying to be like other girls felt like wearing somebody else’s skin.
She’d tried donning dresses, tried keeping her hair softly curled,
But felt much more comfortable as a cowboy with a bottle of gin,
Or as Bilbo Baggins’ long-lost twin.

Daddy never called her “Princess”,
Never referred to her as “Doll”.
Not because He saw her as anything less–
Because He knew she wouldn’t like that at all!
She’d never been your typical “Damsel in Distress”,
Never needed a Prince to climb any tower wall.
There was never a Knight in Shining Armor who could impress–
She’d leap from the tower herself, even if it meant a painful fall!

“Princesses don’t see enough action,”
She always would insist,
“They’re prissy and boring and helpless,
And always waiting around to be kissed!
I need adventure and excitement to be my distraction.
What others think, I couldn’t care less;
I don’t need a man in order to exist!”

Daddy always knew she wasn’t like the other girls,
But that she was happy with who she was.
He never saw her differences
As any sort of flaws.
Never would he exchange her boots and flannels
For the typical lace and pearls.
She was wonderfully perfect;
Her quirks never gave Him pause.
In fact, He loved them,
Celebrating them with boisterous and adoring applause.

She would much rather be a Pirate Captain,
Sailing the seven seas,
Than a maiden dressed in satin
Who startles at the sound of a sneeze.
Her heart was that of an Elven Warrior,
Renowned for her bravery and strength.
Unlike a princess who balked in horror
When faced with a difficulty of any length.
She was made to be a Viking Hero
Who helped save her country at war,
Not a foolish damsel whose experience is zero,
And who faints at the thought of gore.
A Superhero who battles against evil
And rescues this world from certain doom
Was much more appealing than a ballerina regal
Who sits waiting for her groom.
Even a Jedi Knight who dies in battle
Was a much better fate
Than that of the Queen of a castle
Who never steps beyond her front gate.

A zombie slayer, a vampire hunter–
That’s who she was, and wanted to be!
A princess’ average luxury and luster
Didn’t fit her adventurous fantasy.
She was a unique treasure, something rarely found,
And to be clumped in with all the rest would be to see her spirit bound.
The only Princess she’d ever been
Was a Space Princess who could hold her own.
Pink was never a color she’d be willingly caught in,
And she refused to become just another “basic girl” clone.

Daddy loved her different, and held her differently.
He wanted her to know that she was cherished,
And that He was always listening intently.
He would never call her “Princess”,
For she’d feel her dreams had perished,
So instead He called her “Captain”,
Speaking to her ever-so gently.

If she wanted to be a Pirate,
She knew she was free to be.
If today she chose the life of a Paladin,
She always knew her Daddy would see.
If she desired to become a zombie-fighting tyrant,
Daddy asked if he could join her team.
He’d help her train as a bow-wielding assassin,
And push her to be the best that she could be.

He would never change her
Or make her into something she was not.
He would meet her where she was,
And by His example, she was always taught
To be comfortable with who she was, and to always be sure
That what she did was done with excellence,
And to give everything honest thought,
So the battles she fought were always for the highest cause.

As I was climbing the steps,
Today after school…
I felt a pang of claustrophobia,
Despite being outdoors…
As I watched the herd of students in uniform,
Both in clothing and in conversation…
I felt scared.

Because I was a part of that herd.
One which mindlessly spent its days,
Spent,
In accordance to the routines of the society,
Their personalities among other things.

All those kids,
In preparation for standardized tests,
Had become standardized as well…

They were forced to fit a mold,
For so long, that they didn’t have to be forced anymore,
And it had all happened so quickly, just like the way mold covers food,
And it had come to seem so permanent, just like patina covering brass,
Hiding the quirks and the character of the statue for all eyes to see, through corrupting it.
They had turned fit to false ideals.

The stair was full of black coats,
As if to make the uniforms even more uniform.

And even the rare spring-like winter day,
Hadn’t made me want to break the routine that day,
To run away into a field
(If I could find a field in the concrete jungle,
The one that I hadn’t yearned to desert just yet,
Though I should’ve made any place my field, anyways.)
And to dance & lie among wild flowers,
Each one unique and not uniform at all.
Even the trees around the stairs looked one and the same,
But how could the system curb even,
The one thing supposed to be unrestrainable,
The uncurbably roaring nature,
To bend it in its will against diversity.
Just like it had done to us…

But then I saw kids playing in the soccer field,
Not a field of flowers, but a field nevertheless
They did seem to be thinking differently,
Their laughs didn’t resemble each other’s
So it was growing up which had made us like that,
A premature maturity,
Which would be premature even at the age of eighty,
(If it could even be considered maturity)
Which had stripped away our individuality,
And had made us a homogeneous flood, sweeping away all identity

And I still am a captive of the desperation that had taken a hold of me in that brief glance,
I still don’t know what to do,
Humanity, help me,
Aid me in melting these cages,
Through the heat of the stars presents in your minds as well as your hearts,
To recover individuality.

For I refuse to give up,
And to loose myself in the flood

Today I saw a girl
She was walking
On a residential street
She looked out of place
But I knew her face
It’s a small town
So, of course, I knew her face
Of course, I know her name
She’s the Jones girl

She’s a teenager
I don’t know what she was doing
Probably doing whatever it is
Teenagers do
On a Sunday afternoon
In a small town

Platinum white hair
Piercings up her ear
Future up in the air
Scene and emo wristbands
And a graphic tee
Probably not from Hot Topic
Because Hot Topic ain’t so hot here

Here’s the thing
She’d be the It Girl
If it weren’t for her acne
If it weren’t for her height
If it weren’t for her weight
If it weren’t for her interests
If it weren’t for her hobbies
If it weren’t for everything about her
But her name
And her age

She deserves better
I don’t like her
Not personally
But she does deserve better
She deserves the city streets
There, and only there,
Can she can be who she wants to be

And if she can’t?
Then there’s no place I want to be
Not one at all
Because I want to be
Where she,
Where we all can be,
Who we want to be