Common Ground

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A poem.

Sometimes I like making friends with all the throwaways.
I hold them tight, like jewels in my hand.
After all, they shine the brightest.
That may not be something you can understand.

They’re probably not the ones you’d choose.
But I’m sure glad they fit inside my world.
I’m way over playing who’s who.

I’d rather be close to those
Who want me around, most of the time.
Not people who run to pawn me off or send me to the back of the line.
Now you’ve got your friends.
And I’ve got mine.
There’s a difference between
Buddies and Allies.

And another thing-
Sometimes I like to take a big bite out of life.
I rather jump canyons than woodland creeks.
I run with those that do the same.
Although, my daddy always taught me to beware of the “We” thing and who I link arms with.
But when it comes right down to it.
There’s no other way to say it.
We all like the wind in our hair.

As for my kind…
We’re like a band of misfits.
And we aren’t like the rest.
Like square pegs, you can’t mash us into round holes.
We’re the kind that feel the world around us.
Gladness, sadness.
We breathe it in
Inhale.
And then…
We exhale glory.
Isn’t it glorious?
We were made for this.

You very well may be content in sweet mediocrity.
But you’ll have to excuse me-
Because these wings at my back won’t let me be.
I can’t seem to stay my feet on this here,
Common ground.

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