Why are we different?
Because you are a brittle block of rotting wood,
And I am an immortal diamond within obsidian sand.
When angered, you will raise your hand,
But don't you dare raise it to me,
For I will stand like statue, your blow caught in my palm.

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."