I am so odd and different, That I am glad in this Land where I have no crisis that is named Identity! I am glad it has no name or shape or form in this land. With my blots and blemishes, Thoughts and twisted limbs, I am glad I have so many Profound things that I think of, But never of identity. Like trees in a crowded forest, I am glad to push and shove, Twist and turn, Crawl and climb, To seek the Sun, Unaware of my shape and limb. I am so glad Identity is not my crisis!