Idealist
I was a dreamer Out of tune with the world, I had my own adventures. Heroes and squires, princesses in castle, Fire-Breathing Dragons. I started talking to myself, saying my conversations out-loud, it added an extra layer of immersion, made everything more real. The other kids whispered and bickered, huddled up and like a lump of amalgamation as they plotted their dissimulation.They called me a madman, incapable of distinguishing reality to fantasy. They called me a loser, incapable of winning. They called me a dreamer, disjointed from reality. Demeaning tags I accepted willingly. I was a healer I helped my fellow losers. Those broken beyond repair. I was their dumping ground, a trash can for their frustrations. But I knew better, everything I heard from them was one sided and likely misconstrued. Changed in a way that would victimize them. I offered solutions to their problems to no avail, they'd rather stay a victim, stay a loser. In their blindness, they clung to my kindness