Watch them...

The pink magnolia blossoms,

They’re so innocent

Yet we treat them without regards.

Watch us...

Our inner turmoil shaking us,

Like the wind does the magnolia blossom

Uncaring and inevitable.

I wanted to be like everyone else,

Smart, funny, cool.

But when do things cross the line,

From funny to mean,

Or even me to them?

But recently,

It grew harder not to cross the line.

 Harder to fit in.

I can handle Boogeymen. Pitched black darkness? Yeah, it doesn’t send a shiver down my spine. And spiders don’t scare me in the least. My childhood was never plagued with the ordinary fears that come with wiggly teeth and staying up past nine and times tables.

It doesn’t matter,

When the sun sets to the west

It doesn’t matter,

How fast the current is in

the ocean

It doesn’t matter,

When a storm passes through

the plains

It doesn’t matter,