Color me stupid,
but I don't understand how the isolation of a soul
improves it,

except to weatherize it,

leatherize it,

toughen it to impenetrable.


Do most become so clingy
that they readily receive any form of friendship or affection
thrown their way?

Is that how they become

in,

when the alternative is to be
content
with the wonderful beings they are?

Had I not already experienced,

chosen,

as a child,

to reside with only myself for

friendship,

when the alternative was to experience

pain,

suffering at the hands of others,

then I might succumb

to that

lifestyle of obligating my earthly existence to others to fill my needs.


Color me different,
for I fail at being

in,


find it foments insecurities,


relationships are earned,
souls unceasingly tested,


integrity does not seem

important,

loyalty can be bought,

sold.


Others know things, and I laugh at myself, at my lack of comprehension,
inability to conform to

what I know not.


No longer suffering,
still curious how society works,
how I am here,

kind of,

happy with myself, with my resilience,
my strangeness.


Pondering your strangeness.
9
9
9
9