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I've been on this planet so long,
that I fear half my life is over.
And what have I done?
I always thought I was so different, so special.
The nail that needed hammering down.
The poppy in a field of barley.
But difference is not a choice.
Now I see difference as a curse.
I dreamt of mountains to conquer,
books to write,
differences to make, lives to improve.
Not wealth, not fortune, but a tidy little house
with cosy nooks
and lots of books.
A love not fierce, but gentle, forgiving,
encouraging me when I doubt myself.
And children with minds of their own
and wide-open hearts.
Well, at least I have succeeded in one of those.