It’s crazy how crazy, people think I am
Crazy that I don’t know
How to love
How to care
How to have empathy
How to be remorseful
How not to be violent
How not to be merciless
How not to hurt heartlessly.
Is it crazy that I think its people who are crazy?
That they expect me to love, care, empathize....
Am I not supposed to have learnt these?
How can I
Understand that which I’ve never experienced?
How can I
When they dumped me
In a godforsaken orphanage
A nuisance, a bug only worth crashing
How can I
When motherly love
Is an animal I only read about in books
How can I
When they denied me
Even the spoiling of a caring grandma
How can I
When all I know is being a statistic
An artifact for nosy tourists to photograph
To demonstrate their godly philanthropy?
How can I
When I unlike other children
Was confined in a national park
One in a herd of useless filth
How can I
When I had no one to share
In my joys and sorrows
As children do with their families
How can I
When they trampled on my family
To build an orphanage
So who is crazy now?
I who practices what they’ve taught me
Or them who expect to reap orchid
Where they sowed cactus?
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