Nothing
By David Stanley Bell

What thoughts must I form,
what emotions must I feel,
to understand myself?
What words must I form,
what picture must I paint,
to be understood?

From the day I could reason
I wanted to be different
than this world
so heartless and cruel

I should be careful for what I wish
for I am different
How can I expect
anyone to understand
that which I cannot understand?

So I am different
alone
unloved
How else then can I treat myself
but heartless and cruel?
I have accomplished nothing