A Good Kind of Weird

A Good Kind of Weird

You said weirdness is a side effect of awesome,

and I haven’t stopped thinking about that.

There’s a boy in my class

who hums through every worksheet,

and a girl who talks with her hands

as if she’s folding the sky.

When I was seven

I built a spaceship from couch cushions

and flew it to Nebraska.

I didn’t know then

that I’d spend my life

trying to remember how to do that again—

to believe in my own version of gravity.

I’ve seen what happens

when we try to flatten kids

into charts.

They disappear.

They learn to hide the parts of themselves

that glow sideways.

So I leave room in the day

for humming.

And for spinning in chairs.

And for that one kid

who writes his name backwards

just to see what it feels like.