N. a deviation from the common norm. Something or somebody who does not fit in.

A glitch, an error in systematic method.

Something abnormal.

Something strange.

Something mind boggling.  

Exactly what I was meant to be.

I mean how much of a hypocrite can you be?
How can you dare list off all of the
Wonders and beauty in a person
Who still winds up alone
Every night
With nobody quite caring how they're really
Doing
Because "Who them? They're perfect nothing ever goes wrong there."
But she sits down after
Highlighting every beautiful thing in life
While smiling and making everyone laugh
And feel loved and cared for and included
Watching them embrace a lover or a friend
Who really really cares for them,
Looking at each other with sparkles in their eyes or just cracking jokes and genuinely having a good time
And she's alone, smiling slightly and softly
Trying to figure out exactly what she's been doing wrong all her life because she's a little shy but she always cares deeply and she always loves, and she tries to keep up conversation
And she really puts her best effort into making everybody happy
Yet every day she's alone
Despite the accolades and the "you're so great"s and smiles in her face
She wonders why she's no one's real favorite
And maybe if nobody really loves the girl who
Everybody likes
And if she's just something
A wallflower
Which sometimes people stop to admire
Or maybe she's too perfectly presented on
The outside for someone to love.

So she breaks at night
And repairs herself each morning
To live with a hope
A desperate hope
To maybe one day see more than admiration
Something deeper than lust
In someone she loves
When they look at her.

Maybe she's too hopeful
But someday it will happen
Right?

She was an angel
But I turned her into the devil
With my lies
With my carelessness
With my anger
With my hate

I set fire to a flower
And was shocked
When the flower
Fell in my lap
And set me on fire

All the flower needed
Was attention
And love
And effort
And everything I wasn't ready
To give

Could you find your own identity
And stop trying to be me
I am sick and tired of trying to
Swallow back my words
In order to avoid me being a part of
The herds
Others who
Who all look the same.

Could you please find you own identity
I am sick of you trying to be me
Sick of you mimicking me
Sick of you trying to do
All that I do
And passing it off as your own.

Where has uniqueness gone?
And why do you
Regard me with scorn
As if you are the one who
Hadn't succumb to
Stealing another's identity
Oh would you please stop trying to be me?

Be you
Do you
Do not compare yourself to me
Can't you see
That you are beautiful
In your own unique way?

Listen to me
And listen to me well
It would be a cold day in hell
That I would allow anyone
On anything
Take away my own originality
And you as sure as the sun shines
Can never have the talent or personality
That is mine.

You can never be me.
Can't you see that it can never work?
Why don't you put more effort
Into finding yourself
Instead of trying into cash in on
The wealth I have found in myself
Because the same riches lie inside of you
Could you please please please
Stop trying to be me

The seven deadly sins of man
have just slaughtered a
mocking bird.

The sound of willow drums
                     & laughter at 1 a.m.

The Lion's sin of Pride
                   "Hail the poet within you."
The Dragon's sin of Wrath
                   "Your words forge death on the page."
The Snake's sin of Envy
                   "The clock counts more words than time does."
The Fox's sin of Greed
                   * "Crave the words as if they disgusted God."
The *Grizzly's sin of Sloth
                     *"Immortality flocks to your pen and paper."
The *Goat's sin of Lust
                     "Dress like a daydream or a nightmare to write with blood."
The Boar's sin of Gluttony
                      "Don't be afraid to **** to suffice your poems."

Oh poets,
for those of you who've figured
it's also a sin
to ****
a
mocking bird.

The secret is in the eighth deadly sin of poetry,
                                  Don't.
              ­                    Tell.
                                   Poets.
                                    What.
                ­                    To.
                                    ­Do.
.

I know it's best for me to be alone
But my heart sincerely wants a home.
I don't know where to settle
My mind is whistling like a tea kettle.

Time ticks bye
Time flies
Things are changing.

I know it's best for me to be around
But I don't think I can bear the sound
Of bickering
Or handling the ludicrous singing.

Here I am,
All over again
Hand with pen
Wondering when
My peace will be turned upside down,
Wondering when
The next heartache will come around.

I know it's best for me not to worry
I know it's best not to hurry
Things along
But I can't quite contain
My mind's wondering song.