My Existence Makes Sense, and there’s life to commence.
I do feel much more childlike as seasons march by.
I see such an adult world when I look outside.
I’m afraid to go out there. In here is my pride,
Where my sense of the strangeness I may simplify.
If I feel disconnected, I’ll call it suspense.
Sensing feeling is mutual, well I reflect
That which I am a part of. What love can I know?
Is it why I’m not listened to? Am I too mean?
Living life like a woman, I’ve become obscene?
Have I screwed up completely with nowhere to go?
Had I acted more manly, had I known respect?
What makes sense is of import to living that out
In a way that feels wholesome and absent of fear.
If I feel like a channel of wisdom and light,
For all intents and purposes, I’ll do alright.
Any sense that I make here at least is sincere.
I’m of value to this world. I have not a doubt.