Part 1
Perspective one says…
We were never meant to be normal,
Not with the lives we live
Our tongues are coated in languages
Our skin in passport stamps
Our hearts are strung to a map
Tethered forever to the goodbye and plane tickets
We were never meant to be rooted,
Not when we were born to have wings stitched onto our backs
Our bodies forever branded with the sky
Airports become as familiar as the places we’re supposed to call home
“Where you from?” is as hard a question to answer as calculus is with a first-grade education
“Where is home?” is like asking which strand of hair I like best
There were too many, are too many, will be too many… to call home…
Home is a figment of our imagination,
“Home is where your heart is” equals to folklore we grew up with
Our hearts have been shattered and scattered across a globe
We can never be normal
Not with the lives, we are living
Our footprints mark the miles between countries
Our wings mark the oceans crossed
Our incredible inevitable crazy lives
Mark only those who live in memories
We can never be normal
Wishing to be is a long… almost… forgotten dream
We will never be… “normal”
Our paths were chosen before we knew “Yes”
Wings stitched before we knew “No”
Goodbyes and plane tickets tethered before we knew “Stop!”
Hearts strung before we knew “Please!”
Skin stamped and tongues coated before we knew… “Ok… ”
We… can never be…
Part 2
Perspective two says…
We were never meant to be normal
Our tongues are coated in languages
Our skin in passport stamps
Our hearts were made for this chaos
Tethered forever to the adventure and high wind turbulences
We were never meant to be rooted
Not when we were born with wings protruding from our backs
Airports become a familiar harbor
We are from everywhere and nowhere
A piece of our heart remains in each country we’ve traveled to
The trail markers of our lives
We can never be normal
Our footprints mark the miles on maps
Our wings mark the oceans feet could never cross
Our incredible inevitable crazy lives
Are burned into our brains
Lasting till dust returns to dust
We will never be… “normal”
Our paths take us in a thousand different directions
We never saw coming
Our wingspan is half the length of our courage
Our adventures are written in a blank book
The turbulence is a victory cry in sign language
Our hearts are made resilient
Our skin is begging for stamps
Our tongues are already learning
We are incredibly inevitably crazy
Isn’t it extraordinary… how we… can never be…