I'm Different

By Angel 07/17/09

I'm different

from everybody else in the world.

I am a whole alternative thing.

Sometimes I hate it, but most times I don't.

I am unlike anyone else I know,

and I've been told that I

dazzle, wherever I go.

Sometimes I believe them,

but most times I don't.

I love the Moon, more than the Sun.

Instead of walk, I'd rather run.

Being alone is just as fun

as when I'm surrounded by everyone.

I try to think through what I say

but most of the time, it just comes out.

I have a reliable intuition,

I listen to my heart without a doubt.

My head doesn't rule

on it's rightful throne.

It doesn't command the sinew, the bone.

The blood of my body, or anything else.

My logic comes forth

in the dawn's ringing bell.

My hair is as inky black as the night,

and yet it shines deep red in the sun.

My eyes are brown, and then they're green.
They can never decide to be just one.

My smiles are genuine, but often they're sad,

because I can't control the future,

and I can't change the past.

Sometimes I'm quiet, and sometimes I'm loud.

I'm terribly stubborn, and awfully proud.

I think very deeply, and most of the time,

I can't share anything that I find.

They say my soul is old; I think that's what I need.

Someone who's seen as much as me.

My laughter is pealing; reflecting and bright.

Like holding a crystal up to the light.

My movements are soft, and sometimes unsure;

My disease is called 'Klutz". And there isn't a cure.

I love black roses, even though they mean death.

I find them romantic; like love's harshest breath.

Just as the lovers think they can't pull through,

they survive their darkest night,

and see the sky's morning hue.

It feels comforting when I cry,

but I always wipe the tears from my eyes.

I would rather pull myself all the way through;

my need to be strong has never been new.

I fight a lot of battles, and sometimes I lose.

But I don't take it badly; to fight's what I choose.

And often I feel like nobody listens,

like nobody really understands.

My morning tears like dewdrops glisten

in my tiny, open hands.

I lay in my bed, and can't find sleep

and in the night's cool, bright air, my feelings creep.

I have always loved the night,

in it's darkness, I find light. The air is electrified,

beautifully charged.

Things happen at night that can't be explained.

Excitement is beauty, and secrets aren't pain.

In the veil of the night, there is everything to gain.

This is the way I feel in the dark,

and yet I still love jumping out of bed on a Wednesday morning.

I love music, especially when it's so loud

that you feel it, rather than hear it. When the music

becomes a part of me, and I belong to it in a way

that I've never been able to explain. It's too hard.

When I manage to sleep, I always dream.

Colors and swirls of confusion, but clarity.

Shining brightness and comfortable darkness. I feel

like if I could smile in my sleep, I would grin all night long.

My life is amazing, and it's all that I want.

Already I feel as if it couldn't get much better.

But at the same time, I have so many hopes.

And plenty of dreams.

Everyday is a new adventure, weaving in with the old ones

to make a blinding swirl of energy that covers my eyes,

and I get lost in the hazy colidaescope.

I have lots of emotions, but I'm betraying this poem.

It was meant to be happy, and I'm finishing it sad.

Right now I'm so anxious, so worried and taut,

with the pressure of losing someone I love a lot.

And the world won't be right until he speaks to me,

so until then, I'm just going to sit here, and breathe.

This is different...but this is me.