Our Pieces Fit

Out on the frontier
Of what it is to be human
Trying to keep us
Under lock and key

Out of balance
The instinct to correct
Is overwhelming
Almost habitual

The spirit that burns
Deep inside us
Is a soaring passion
An obsession

That flies in the face of normal

The portrait of difference
Tip the scales
We are the probable cause
For the cracks in the human veneer

It’s cold comfort
To have our vision dulled
As we are expected
Survive in the spectrum vacuum

Our pieces fit
Maybe more strangely
But it works
If we are given a little support

Just let us unlock our own box