Sometimes I only pretend to be here.
Inside, I’m secretly searching my mind,
trying to find something I always wished I’d done,
but never had the guts to go for.

That’s not saying it was there to get, mind you.
Funny thing,
but that’s all part of the craziness -
part of the mind fuck.

Most days I work so hard just to stay here.
Inside, I’m searching my heart for a way
not to be so blind,
trying to find some secret way to be
that doesn’t involve mysticism, or folklore.

I’m not implying that I think it should all be
easy, mind you.
Truth be told,
Easy never even entered my picture -
It got left out, along with dumb luck.

These days I mostly wish I could define myself
as something other that the damaged child
I knew I was -
Know I am, dammit!
Needing to make this existence into something...

Too late for that, I think.
Special is the property of minds more tempered,
and less tempted than mine.

Special needs focus.
I need variety. To explore a million directions, 
and sample each of them
without tarrying too long.

It is Attention Deficit?
Well, maybe.
But maybe it's just the way some people are wired.

Jacks of all trades. Masters of none.