Different. Hmm, now that’s the word I’d use to describe myself. Not because I wear all black clothing. Not because I can’t play basketball well. Different in a sense that I’m not like everyone else, in a way that is “more” different than other different things out there. I don’t bend in a million different directions. I can’t sing well. I don’t have a “role model.” For the most part, I’m a normal guy. The problem is, sometimes when you’re different, you’re hard to accept.
I guess some people like being different. Being different is against the norm of society, you know? People want to speak out against anonymity and be themselves, and for the most part, I applaud their efforts. But see, I know what it’s like to be different. Different isn’t new. Being strange isn’t new.
If someone told you a deep dark secret about themselves, could you keep it? I have friends who are strange physically. One has webbed feet. Another has 7 fingers on one hand. That’s different, to be sure. But that happens to more people than you think, so being different like that is almost normal. What if I told you...
That I have wings?
Pretty different, hmm? Strange, laughable, almost. The only problem is, they’re real. It’s not a joke or a good feathered piece I got at a costume shop. Sometimes I wish they were. Strange is different for me. Different is different for me. I’m not normal.
Life is strange with wings. Especially when I can’t get them tied down to fit under my clothing. Those are bummer days. Going to a McDonalds is a challenge anymore. Walking through the drive through at 2 AM doesn’t work well anymore. Sometimes, it’s hard to sleep. Most of the time I’m moving from place to place, not staying anywhere for too long. I have six or seven library cards for different big cities and another few for smaller libraries that are out of the way.
Being different is hard sometimes, but it’s not strange, or new.
So literally I leave you...
On Angel’s Wings
RFeathers