So very irregular, so very different
I struggle, compelled, to celebrate this distinction.
As much for it's joy, but more so, a consolation,
Since such a distinction is the mainstreams agitation.

This bankruptcy is theirs, to see mine as a view
That holds no such value with which they find use.
They see nothing of merit, nothing of truth,
Nothing of benefit, just completely obtuse.

My view is not mistaken, even if rather skewed
And so distinctly contrasted, perhaps even new.
So why such aversion to welcome my perceptions
That could only enlighten their standing conceptions.

Do they treasure their comfort and conclude that their sagacity
Completely encompasses all perpetuity.
And so discard any premise in my aberrant inclination
As a useless appendage or disordered deviation.

It is none of these and all so much more
As they would be, would they not so abhor.