We were misfits
the neglected *******
of a backwards world
that rejected us
not because we were sick
demented or dangerous
but because we didn't prescribe
to a preconceived notion
of what a functioning citizen was.

Not rotten enough to spoil
behind the bars of a prison
just competent enough
to work menial jobs
and drown our sorrows
at the corner pub.

We swallowed this hard truth
the same way we drank our shots
with no chaser
and at times it burnt
maybe even made us tear up
but we never let it beat us
(too strong for that)

We were beautiful
resilient beasts
that could carry the weight
of the world upon our shoulders
and it was heavy
but we would tell ourselves
"doesn't every world need an atlas?"
so we went on holding up the sky
when no one asked it of us.

My life will end
as a blank canvas
on an empty wall
in an empty house
in a street that no one remembers
I will fade into the endless black
drowned amongst
the many nameless
forgotten by all
who once swore
to remember me
I will lie dying
in a potter's field
with a wilting flower
and a first name only
I will never publish my words
and I will never show my art
And I will forget to leave this town
fading like every other here
who had big, but fragile dreams
I will always exist
but forget to live.