Left at birth,

My brain was set.

Apart from most,

I knew.

Awkward, clumsy,

Gauche indeed.

My shitty hand,

Met every need.

Defender, fending dextrous foes.

Creator, writing spider prose.

Feeder, cleaner, closest aide.

The very heart of how I'm made.

Condemned by tyrant teachers, who

Adored the neat and right.

Spurned, as of the reject few.

So, clearly not too bright.

But that which sparkles in this world.

Great art and mighty minds.

Creators of the finest things,

Are often left inclined.

Boring, dull, conformity

And small, neat, tidy brains.

Stick to what is right for them

And do not see our gains.

What once was just a hand preferred,

I now see, is much more.

A brain connected contrary,

To make the world less poor.