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JR Rhine Oct 2016
My friends and I
are forlorn fabrics
haphazardly stitched into a quilt.

Comprised of different textures and fabrics,
frayed at the ends,
rejected pieces meant for the trash,
not good enough for made-to-wear mall clothes.

My friends and I
fit like a puzzle
consisting of pieces from various other puzzles--
found under coffee tables,
between couch cushions,
tossed into the bowels of forlorn toy bins--
forming a collage of something
disoriented and ambiguous.

Crammed together,
smashing our appendages,
leaving crooked gaps,
wrinkled, torn, ****** up,
but feeling better here
than in our small contribution
to the bland image of our factory's design.

My friends and I,
outcasts, rejects, punks,
convening in the junkyard heap
where we dance and laugh among trash
that makes us feel clean.
Pure when we're filthy.

Quilts and puzzles,
to instill and befuddle;
****** treasures.
NeroameeAlucard Dec 2015
Shout out to the outcasts
Your individuality will outlast
Shout out to the mediocre ones
You have talent but you don't feel good enough
Stay with it love, develop your craft and grow into the best
Here's to the underdogs,
The ones who feel they don't belong,
And for so long have been hiding away and starting to decay,
Don't settle for the nutshell and say it's just as well,
Rise higher than the tree wild and free,
They don't know who you really are don't let them take it too far,
A collaborative effort with my amigo Oreos
my body rejects milk
I wish it rejected
your lies
10w
The poem could also read:
my body rejects milk
I wish it rejected
my lies

— The End —