Usually the underdog,
The weird -- the strange.
Unconventional in style,
But with an amazing range.
The distinction may be clear,
But he has already changed.

From the conformity to society,
To the death of Me.
To the tragic fate that awaits us,
Almost every single day.
We just try to fit in,
But who does that make us?
Just another one of them,
White-Collar with distrust.

Stories tell us to be different,
but in reality we shall halt.
The very thought of variety
Is to be taken with a grain of salt.

When it comes down to being true,
Just try to be you.
You won’t fail your own test,
Unless you catch the flu.
Sometimes it gets hard,
But trust me it gets better.
Play your own cards,
Just don’t be a setter.

In two years from now,
or maybe three.
Someone will ask you,
What’d you do with all that debris?
Tell them you left it,
Tell them wanted to be free.
And that now more than ever,
You can live peacefully.

As I said before,
Life can be tough.
But stand up and roar,
in that mighty Southpaw galore.

Left-handed, a lefty, the other arm.
It is forgotten because it’s weaker.
The other, extra, the one with no charm.
If it were a woman, none would seek her.

The sinister and the clumsy left hand.
Derogated abnormality.
Like an afterthought that was never planned.
Its only benefit is symmetry.

At least I could have been ambidextrous.
Then I’d be capable on either side.
I want perfection, not a little less.
This left hand is a source of wounded pride.

When can the useless ever find their place?
This dangling vestige had made me bereft.
But then I found that someone to embrace,
And I saw the potential I had left.