I see them laughing at me,
the kids at school.
they ask a lot of weird questions,
like why do I look the way I look,
or walk the way I walk.
Sometimes I go home and enter a dark lonely place,
I create friends in my head.
they don't laugh at me,
or question every movement made,
or breath breathed.
I'm human,
just like all other beings,
I wish they would stop being so nasty,
and look beyond my disability.

Well here I am
once again.
Sitting here at 3 A.M.
And there's no escape
to the way I feel.
No escape to the way
you made me feel.
You haunt me
in every possible way.

I'm saying goodbye to a world
of butterflies and majestic things
And i'm saying hello to a world
of reality and terrible things
But in that world
there is one good thing
There is you

Butterflies Butterflies
They flutter ever so elegantly
But that doesn't compare too
Your heart Your heart
that cares for me ever so wonderfully

Majestic Things Majestic Things
They keep things ever so beautifully
But that doesn't compare too
Your Heart Your heart
that loves me ever so perfectly

Tiny little planets
Spin aimlessly in their fixed orbits
Concerned only with what occurs on their own surface
As they travel blissfully oblivious to the worlds they go hurtling past on a daily basis

Until one day they look up
And notice another lonely planet passing close
And everything is forever changed
As gravity takes control

They are pulled closer and closer
Helpless but not wanting to be helped
They are drawn together until their surfaces touch
And their worlds collide in a flash of brilliance

The result can be the most beautiful thing they have ever experienced
*Or the most horrific.

Pain slices through his heart
As he watches her
Once again
Beat herself with that
Whip of Intolerance
Each time he is Stunned
By the Violence
She directs at herself
His heart bleeds
As he wonders....
          as he wonders
If she will ever find
Acceptance and Tolerance
Of her self
That she so freely gives to others

If I were a painter
You would ask me to paint you a story
Telling the world of how incandescent life can be
Using that time we ran through the sprinklers at a park
Glistening in the moonlight at one in the morning
As inspiration

If I were a musician
I would compose a new song
To act as the soundtrack
To the time we sat at the top of the hill
Saying our goodbyes
With only our foreheads pressed together
Like praying hands

If I were an architect
I would build a space for us
So that you could always come back
To something that reminds you of me.
You could keep your knick knacks here
To help fill the house of your smell
For me to visit while you're away.

If I were an astronomer
I would make you a constellation
To help you find your bearings
Whenever you feel out of place.

If I were anything else
Anything with more talent
Would I still mean such little to you?

In Welsh
The word "Hiraeth" means
A homesickness for a home
To which you cannot return.
A home which maybe never was.
The nostalgia,
The yearning,
The grief for the lost places of your past.

In Russian
The word "Toska" means
A dull ache of the soul.
A longing with nothing to long for.
A sick pining.
A vague restlessness.

In Yaghan
The word "Mamihlapinatapai" means
A look shared by two people,
Each wishing that the other will
Offer something that they both desire
But are unwilling to suggest or offer themselves.

You say that you love my words
And wonder why I have such a passion for them.
It's simple, really.
I'm merely trying to put a name
To everything you inspire me to feel.