What’s Wrong with Me?

“What’s wrong with you?” they asked.
“There are so many things.
It’s as if the weird were tasked
With raising a king of kings.”

“What’s wrong with you?” they sighed.
“You’re oddly odd, we’ve tried
To include and be your guide.
Why won’t you let us all inside?”

“What’s wrong with you?” they groaned.
They asked and sighed and moaned.
“We so want to see you fly!
But you leapt into the sea
And refuse to come get dry!
Why can’t you just agree
That this normal is the best
And come join us like the rest?”

“The toilet’s not for planting trees,
Stars aren’t alien campfires.
You can’t grow great friends from cheese
And why sing sweet songs to spiders?
Don’t shake hands with your face,
A river cannot be your brother.
The back side of nowhere ain’t a place
So stop insisting that we go there!
You can’t take whales on walks,
Or store extra holes in jars.
Stop trying to lion train rocks
And join us in this world of ours!”

“What’s wrong with you?” they huffed.
And I only ever said –