White Mice & Black Rats
So many books and films and plays,
So many greats of music and art,
Loved by so many, lauded with praise –
So why do I still feel apart ?
Why do these classics not fill me,
When millions burn with the hope that they give ?
Why does their beauty just chill me,
When millions grab them as reasons to live ?
No. Don’t brood. I also feel,
Though diff’rently from all of this –
But I am just as sharp and real,
And I deserve my share of bliss.
And sometimes, yes, I find a voice
To tell me I’m not quite alone.
This pickiness is not my choice,
It’s just the way my brain has grown.
So many books and films and plays
Are doing their jobs, and doing them well.
I wish them luck, on our sep’rate ways
As I pray for one to cast its spell.