Critics and peers will always try to rate us.
The thought is sweet; the thoughts are often not.
They take what’s so dynamic, fluid, and full.
And try to shift it to stiffened, solid, and dull.
Maybe it’s just me and my mind,
but it seems to be that we the people
turn each other feeble, and
***** each other with poisoned needles, I find.
There’s ‘Welcome’ on the doormat,
though are we truly welcoming?
There’s always someone below
and unwelcomed, at that.

The outcast.
The pariah.

The one.

Who feels like the single person
the people and world are against.
Someone who turns their back
to the world,
because when has the world had
their back ever?
Maybe it’s just me and my mind,
but it seems to be, as soon as we
get a clue is when the sky turns
back from black to blue,
and a heart turns back
from black to red, and
saves a Soul that's living dead.