Sweet child, precious child.
You've come into this world bright and shining,
radiant and perfect;
such a pure force that perfection becomes
an understatement.

I will tell you now, precious child:
your perfection will not last.
You will soon start thinking
and feeling
and looking nothing like they think you should.
Your brightness, your shining beauty
will end.

You see, precious child,
society loves conformity.
Society love sameness and things that fit
perfectly inside boxes and molds.
You don't fit these molds.
For you, as for me, these boxes...
they are far too small.

Precious child, we are different, you and I.
We think, we feel, we hold ourselves differently.
And Different is a thing They can't stand,
and They dictate what perfection should be
and also what it is not.

They love you as long as you're perfect, precious child.
They love you as long as your uniformity doesn't end.
But it is not you that they truly love--
no, it never was.
Their love is for their safety, their comfort
the fact that they don't have to deal with things
they just can't understand.

But, precious child, I love you.
I am like you--
I'm different, too. Even from you.
We are alike in our difference from them,
and we, child, understand
what it is truly like
to feel
to live
to know
to be free.

We are different, precious child.
We feel true emotions.
We live true lives
We know who we are and
we know things that They never can.
We are free to be what we WANT to be;
free of Their prejudices and fears.

Don't let Them tell you that you are wrong, precious child.
Don't let Them call you unclean.
Or, if They must spew Their hurtful words,
know that they say them only out of fear.

Yes, precious child, they fear you.
They fear your perfection--
for your differences are what True Perfection truly is.
Your differences and mine, they make us what we are
and prove that we are not mindless,
unthinking and robotic.
Manufactured perfectionism soon loses its meaning,
until all that is left is automated and mindless:
breathing, with hearts beating
but still dead.

Sweet child, precious child, you are perfect.
You've come into this world bright and shining,
radiant and precious as gold and
such a pure force that perfection becomes
an understatement.

Difference is perfection, precious child.
For perfection is a definition
that is different
for us all.