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.