On being that One Weird Kid 

People tell me I do too much

As if being a perfectionist is some sort of crutch

Their chains are pulling me down

I struggle to smile when they want me to frown

Do too much? Do I really?

I dabble in all my passions, you think that’s silly?

I have 24 hours each day

Same one’s as Einstein, Jesus, Dr. Dre

So I take this little box, this chunk of time

And I fill it like I’m robbing; crime

I pack it, squeeze it, smack it

I stuff it so full of love I might crack it

Love of music, literature, service, and rain

Sunshine, history, and the mysteries that keep me sane

Do too much? Do I really?

Cause I see in colors more vibrant than a lily

Zero hour approaches and my box is strained

All you see is my stress, what have I gained?

Crack, bang, blam goes my box

I just knocked off this boys socks,

My box is broken it can’t contain me

Thinking outside the box, can’t contain me

Do too much? Maybe

Or are you just jealous cause what you do in a week I achieve daily

Go ahead and drag me from my peak

All ya gonna do is make a winning streak

Do too much? Absolutely

If I were using your eyes resolutely

Do too much? Nope

Cause I’m a dreamer fueled by hope

Do too much? I don’t

I will succeed when you say I won’t

Do too much? Maybe you do

But if you were a perfectionist you’d see my view