"Its a punishment, you see.."
I tend to bend towards the dark,
Unlike other living trees,
And bare my own unique marks,

I see different from the next person,
Refused to listen what the world is saying,
Instead believe on my own distortions,
At least that's what they see in me when they are looking,

I see the world through a narrow hole,
Neglect the thrill that the big picture may be good,
I choose to stay in my darkness of mind,
Drawing satisfaction on what I think and all that could,

Like I could see a church and think of learning,
Instead of a place to be healed,
I'd see a school and think not of growing,
But a place where a mind is submitted and must yield,

Its a punishment,
That I receive,
From the next generation of beings,
Who force all,
To believe,
In a similar manner of idea in different things,

Its a punishment,
Being an outcast in a society of my kind,
But I have to indure being different,
Because, I don't believe there is a better life than what I see in my mind.

Give me hope and home
a place to call my own
a cliche that is only mine
a brief escape from endless time

I can't stand your world nor
can I hold my clumsy limbs
upright on its surface.

a little coffee cup
meant to be filled
waits eagerly in the cupboard
with all of her will

a small cup she was
but she could do the job
just waiting for someone
to pull the door ****

she'd show them her colors
and her half heart handle
she'd be filled up with coffee
and set on the mantle

Suddenly
something illuminates the dim
lips pressed against her brim
she'd get a chill if she ever had skin

warm hands held her tight
her job was finally fulfilled
she must be quite the sight
but her owner was not to skilled
down she tumble
off the window sill
and right before everything went black
a deafening CRACK!

stranded on a deserted island
in a sea of people
no way to escape the grasp of reality
not even within my mind

never knowing if the sea is constantly watching me
or oblivious to my every move

I know I'm constantly watching it
wanting to be immersed in belonging
but not sure how
I'm still an outcast

maybe, just maybe, there are other islanders
dispersed throughout this vast ocean
but I may never know
since I can't leave my place alive
left only with a sliver of hope
that once day two islands can come together
and live harmoniously

Never in my life
Have I've heard
Anything good
Escape your mouth
In regards to me

I am a **** stained smear  
At the bottom of your loafers
Bird **** droppings atop
Your prized buntal brim

Your eyes for me
Holds no sparkle
Or joy or love
For that matter

Only contempt
At the thought
That I am your seed

You spit phlegm
In spite
Of my existence
A regurgitated reminder
Of you

There are no complexities
In truth of procreation

I am the
Mirrored continuance
Of your self-hate
At war with myself

In a battle
Where no one
The victor

Covered in
**** stained shame
A biblical ***
Resign
To live life
Shunned

At the bottom
Of your
Shiny
Brand
New
Shoes

“But Eve… Different isn’t always a good thing.” Said Annabeth, oblivious, in a state of self-loathing,

At first, Eve was silent, basking, shocked of how this lively girl just spoke not so lively. But then…

“Different is always a good thing. In the simplicity of society, where each and every body is demanded to be the same, where everyone aspires towards fitting in with the standards shoved into their faces, and where those who stray from this very path are labeled as outcasts, change is a good thing. In fact, change, the metamorphosis of the very nature of this world, is needed. Without it, everyone would not even know that they are following the direction in which our community persuades. In fashion, you are not. Astray from the normal, you are. But do not ever think of this as a terrible thing. You, with your skinny frame, blatant display of ribs and bones, bloodshot eyes, pale skin and the miniscule amount of hair on your head, though may not be perceived as something normal, are more than what they are- those who label you as such. Do not listen to those who tell you that you are sick and do not belong in this world anymore. You are not sick because of that, but because God willed it. In all his Glory, he willed you to be sick and come to him quicker than anyone would have thought. That, my dear, makes you special. Different, a definition of it is to not be like another person, and life, my precious Anna, would completely miserable and uninteresting, you see, if there were to be a world of sameness. A personal hell, I would call it, a wormhole of insanity. So, Annabell… Different, as you and every other person on this Earth is, is actually a phenomenal thing. A phenomenal thing indeed…”