When you are young, 
And you take on a hobby 
That you know is made fun of, 
You are acknowledging that 
Being accepted and approved of by all 
Is not a primary goal for you, 
Or, perhaps, that it was never 
Really even possible 
On other grounds. 

When you understand how intense 
The desire to fit in somewhere is, 
Much of what you see in the world 
That would otherwise be unexplainable 
Makes sense. 

A community of outcasts is 
Still a community; 
And they can be joyous ones, 
Or crimped, restrictive ones, 
Depending on the players. 

Sometimes, we outcasts 
Welcome others, as our fellow 
Brothers and sisters, 
And sometimes, 
It's the suffering we felt 
At being outcasts 
That we want to perpetuate. 
I have been 
Both of these people. 

It is easier, with age, 
To forget why we became who we are; 
To forget what loneliness was, and 
To focus only on what disappointment is. 
Yet, we've all known joy in sharing, 
And when we can follow, share, and enjoy 
Things we truly love 
With others who truly love them 
It is a reality that is better 
Than most fantasy.