Sometimes I think about things,
and I’m embarrassed because
of the way I think.
I am just another person,
another human being,
and I’m sad because I’m supposedly
special.
I’m sad that I’ve been determined
to be smart or something.
I’m different, and that hurts,
and people need me because of my “gifts”
and “talents”.
I don’t refuse their necessities.
They need, I fulfill
and I’ll do my best.
But like any tool, my existence
is taken for granted.
We never thank the hammer
for hammering —
we don’t remember
how difficult a stone
drives a nail.
We don’t remember to thank ourselves for coping.
