My birth was a catastrophy,
My wailing the wailing of the damned.
From the time I stepped on two feet,
Only the patient and tolerant,
Could hold my rebellious arms.
In the mind of the perfect world,
The world where everything has its proper place,
I am a lapse, a retardation of the Great Goal.
The doctor cautiously examines me;
Because I’m not the normal type,
I must be a cancer.
How can I relate to those whose rays perfectly converge
In every situation,
In every frame of mind?
The crowd will not tolerate it.
I must be stamped out.
Yet for all the jeers, leers, and fears,
I know now,
After years of seeing myself through broken lens,
That I am a star,
A special, unnameable thing,
Whose divine position is misunderstood,
From those observers blind and far.