Why don’t I stop my whining. Things are not that bad
Given I’m in my own world where no one belongs
Nor would want to spend time here. I feel the same way
About having to deal with people every day.
I am grateful that I can keep track of my wrongs
And how lousy I turned out to be as a dad.

To be sociophobic is not a disease
But a means of survival for those who do harm
To others through the mind that is severely ill.
Do I harm others because it gives me a thrill?
Might as well it may, because I sound the alarm
Of intent of the not well as everyone sees.

I’m afraid of humanity – mine most of all.
I am part of a species yet so alien
Am I to all its mores and odd behaviors.
Intellect is not instinct. It only ensures
That the pain will be something I’ll suffer again
And again for atonement for playing it small.

As the race battles rage on across the frontier
Families are the structures that will become more
In touch with their realities. Self and other
Is the realm of existence where life must occur.
Might we get through this well having done it before?
Alien, I am part of a species austere.