I was born different, unique,

As all babies are.

What, after all, is normal, anyway?

But somehow, in the division of humanity,

Some people are more like the rest,

And others, odd, alien, or intriguing,

Walk outside the stream,

In a different direction

Than all the others.

I never felt like other children—

Always I was on the fringe,

Barely able to find one common soul

With whom I could share, laugh, play.

And since I never was the same

As any others,

I grew up, feeling alienated

From the common feeling.

A conflict was within me;

I wanted to belong,

And yet

I wanted to be different,

Independent,

Able to resist the pressure to conform.

But independence requires

A certain willingness to stand alone,

To find a few brave others, perhaps,

Who stand with you.

But if there are no others,

Independence calls for you

To stand alone.

And brave and honorable as independence is,

It seems, at times, to be a lonely trail.

And even in the knowledge that your stance is right,

There is a lonely sorrow that cries out

For the companionship of souls.