With all my opinions that noone else understands.
With all my values, which I will die for, that noone else shares.
With my sense of humor, which can have me rolling on the floor, while others just give me 'the look'.
With all my loyalties, which can separate me from the group, and force me to stand alone.
With all my failings, which I truly regret, but cannot change.
With all my hopes and dreams, which rarely happen, so I pack them away for another day.
I struggle, I stumble, I fall down, I fall into despair,
Only to rise yet again to be what I was meant to be in this great plan.
Just me.
Observation: "Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophenia." E.L. Doctorow
