Sometimes I ask myself why. Why try to succeed at life? Why try hard at school? Why try to have at least one friend in this strange and foreign land.

If I didn't succeed at life, how could I live with myself on the other side, back home. If I didn't try hard in school, I wouldn't learn or succeed at life.

I tried to have at least one true friend. I listened to everyone, but one by one they showed me that they had covered their eyes and ears to my existence. I feel like the spirit of hell has decided to make people hate me.

Back where I am from, my friends accepted me for who I was, not comparing me to the norm of the area. Out here, I'm almost alone. Only two people don't look towards me with some underlying hatred, some form of disgust at my very existence. But those two don't really understand me. I wear a disguise at school, and anywhere I don't feel safe to let it down. This mask allows me to act more normal than I truly am. It allows some form of interactions between me and other human beings. There is only one more problem.

The reason I can't get along with other humans is that I don't think human. The way I think and act has no relation to the walking drones around me.

I can't pretend to blend in anymore.
I can't stand people running away from my approach to any location.
I want a person who can understand me,
Not a drone, but an actual thinking human being that I don't have to pretend with. Someone whom I can divulge my deepest secrets to, and not have them run away.
To have a shoulder to cry on.
A castle to hide in.
A sky to fly in.
A person to love me.
Someone to love.
To be myself and not be hated because of it.
To be as I am and not have to run.
To be … me
…

But my wish is not anyone else's command. It will only be my wish. Nothing more, nothing less. But, on some what of a brighter note, no one can tell me what to wish for.
If only... If only my wishes and my dreams could come true. If only. If only.

My wish.
No one listens.
If only.

If only I had a place to truly call home.
But what is a true home?
What is safety?
What does it mean to be human?
What is sanity?

I don't truly know, and sometimes that hole in my gut hurts worse than a thousand blades.
Just who am I? Where have I been? Where am I going?
Who am I? Where have I been? When? Why am I? How? What am I, truly?
I don't know.


Sometimes, when I sit there, contemplating all of those questions, some drone makes a harsh, rude, and downright mean remark towards me. They don't think that I hear them, but I can. Every harsh, mean word hurts. After so many, my shield just can't handle so many. And as my protection crumbles away, so does my will to try. My determination to find true friends in a foreign world dissipates into a small flicker of a hope until it loses its light.
Until I decide to go it alone.

Now, I pass the point of no return.
The point at which no living human soul can return from. Good thing I'm not a living human soul.
That part of me died more years ago than I can count. More years than have ever existed. Almost the moment I was born, that part of me died, allowing this body to live on in a remnant of a life. A pathetic excuse for a life.
A pathetic existence.

But when the windshield wipers of life aren't working, it gets even worse. Life seems to give you a pile of shit, and your wings have been clipped.
I wish my wings were in tact.
Then I could fly into the open, frigid sky. Above the clouds, all the way home.
I wish I knew what home was, but then again.
My wish is nobody's command.
If.

If I knew where to find home.

I wish I knew.
But what is a wish?
What is a dream?
What am I?