I remember my parents once gave me a card
I think it was congratulatory
And it referenced me 'Marching to my own beat'.
As if that was a good thing. Not bad.
And I've worn that as a little badge of honour ever since.
I've always known I've been wired.
I felt my brain was a little bit special.
Yes, I forgot about shit.
Yes, I jumped from here to there.
And back again.
Yes, I was distracted.
Chased shiny things.
Left things unfinished.
But I also.
Came up with a hundred different ideas a day.
Some days I could literally vomit words.
I tend to make people smile.
I like my brain.
My mind was given a label.
Apparently, that's not just for little kids.
Who climb walls.
When the possibility was suggested to me.
But I read.
Other people were wired a bit like me, too.
It was like somehow a life already lived.
Made more sense.
All of my challenges.
Some of those other labels.
That pierced my skin.
And daggered my heart.
Could be ripped off.
Those four letters.
Actually don't feel so bad. Comparatively.
Regardless. Of labels.
I still think my mind
Is that little bit special.
Beautiful, in it's own. Unique. Way.
And I will keep on marching to my own beat.