Costs

Of all the things on our green Earth,
I wonder which thing has the most worth?
Is it the Lions and their pride?
Is it the men from which they hide?

I, too, have things, which I do fear,
Much like the Lions, and the deer.
My fear, although, is not of death,
It lives inside of all my breadth.

Everything, I know, comes at a cost,
And through my "gift" I find myself lost.
Expression through text, is the best thing of all,
For in my real life, I am surrounded by a wall.

They say it is easy, just be who you are,
Yet being myself, has never gotten me far.
I write with my heart, yet live with my brain,
Unable to find balance, my soul turns insane.

Obstacles every day, which people take for granted,
Over them, I stumble and fall, as if the world was slanted.
What may not be a big deal to you, I assure you is to me,
Each day I try to fight back, struggling to break free.

Nothing is perfect, and each good thing has a bad,
A measure of extreme joy, is also a measure of the sad.
I don't suppose I can have both, so therefore will not ask,
Here I shall remain, in my own selfish glory to bask.