I  am facing yet another war, and I know you are too.
So please know,
This battle is worth fighting for you.
I rather be loved by the outcasted,
Then to be hated by the royalty.
But I will always be a princess suited in metal armor.

I promise to hold your hand and clense you of your wounds,
I promise to always listen,  validate, and accept you no matter what weight, age, color, size, sexuality or diagnosis.
I promise to always fight for your safe haven to become the world you live in.

Even if you do not think you are worth it,

I always will.


Equality for all,
Or equality for none.

I had no idea how terrible it all was
Until I matured a bit and opened my eyes
It cleared the mist that I often now miss
From the eyes of an unwilling devil
Seeing the tragedy unfold from a first-person level
I remember it all from that god awful view
The bad things I’ve done, over which I had no control
The outcomes I hoped with the manifestation of some
Who am I kidding - I’ve been among a fortunate few
Except for the fact that life dealt me an ace with a ****** *****
Not quite like anyone - an outcasted sole
With depressive thoughts - eating them straight from the bowl
Until euphoria strikes - then I’m a lightning bolt
These emotional storms - they strike me as cold
Who am I to cry and complain about life
Everyone is united by the suffering light
The random subscription to a life with a set rhythm
If only I could command my heart not to wither

Why am I the outcast
Who was I to know
That everybody tires
Of the ones who love them most
Why am I being punished
What did I do wrong
Why do you have to push me away
When I've tried so hard for so long
Why can't I give up on you
When your already so far gone
I've secluded myself, I have no one
And you said you want me to move on
Why am I the one
With the broken heart
Why is your life
Being ruined
Why won't family talk to me
Why am i turned away
No one in this world wants love from me
No one has ever stayed
Why have I been outcasted
Why have I been pushed away
Why can't somebody love me
Why can they not stay
Is everyone a liar?
Is everyone like you?
Or is it me that's the tragedy
Why do they hate me more than you

From the moment we met on that eventful night,
I've felt something for her unlike I've felt for any other soul.
Her hair was curled, her makeup was neat.
She was beautiful.
She smiled at me a special smile,
And it was that smile I would become accustom to.
She was surrounded by a crowd of exceptional people.
They were a kind of wild and raunchy people I hadn't been exposed to.
Amongst them, she shined like a diamond,
As if she was God and they were all descendants of Lucifer.

I soon became aware that her and I could relate.
Sometimes outcasted by others, we bonded in our strife.
We led similar lives and connected strongly with each other in a friendly, nonromantic way.
Whilst her fellow souls were overflowing with disorder,
We held each other and comforted each other from the unsafe conditions of teenage darkness.
She was misunderstood and so was I.
We were meant to live much simpler lives,
But in our struggle to prosper in what we thought was divine,
We made our lives much more complicated.

She watched me as I drove those familiar roads,
And listened as I talked of my blues.
She empathized with me.
We always got along the best.
Faced with a plethora of teenage hardships,
We always found our way back to sanity.
We always found our way back to each other.
She was everything to me,
And to this day, she still shines like a diamond.
Now, her smile is more than just a smile.
It's a pathway to serenity.

An everyday masquerade
Where each person dons
A different façade,
Yet are all the same
Because it's all
A feigned version
Of the real,
True being inside.

A sea of faces,
Pressuring you,
To be alike;
You have to be
One of a kind,
Yet those who are
Are outcasted in
Everyday life.

So all wear the
Same mask,
Masking the flaws,
The rawness of it all;
Because of the
Social biases.
A place where
No one can be their
Honest self is
"Society".

A society,
Which in definition
Is a community
Of peoples,
Is no longer so.
There are only
One type of person,
Which all souls
Take host in.

I.

I wake up, wake up, as if
hearing the solitary leaves fall
in the breeze
in this late night:

Is that you? My pulse,
freezes for a moment.
Or just
a face in the crowd?

Did you not die?
or did I
wish you out of my life?
Is this, a nightmare?
Or just
my fragmented plane?

II.

Come, friend, let me inspect your wounds:
ah, have they healed well!
You have always been
a sort of miracle-worker.

What was the need for all that pain then?

Oh those carefree
days bygone of Nazareth!
Where we learned
to chisel our destiny.
And ran after severed kites floating away
in the dust winds.

What was
his name who we learned
Aleph from?

III.

Oh this pain:
of life, growing out,
growing out
like a sapling out of
a crack crumbling
out of an ancient wall:

do the skies weep out
in commiseration now at our fate?

I hugged an ideal;
and now I am outcasted.
And I am outcasted.

IV.

Do you hang on your
Tesseract
my friend, broadcasting
your assumed pain about
in the four dimensions?

I know them four well.
Three of space
and the fourth, of pain:
pain, concealed, hidden
in our
cursed world of normal dimensions

V.

Who do we change?
Do we change?
Isn't all change death?
Die, die, I die:
Die, friend! Die, Relation!
And now
in the darkness I am awake
counting
the shadows of falling leaves.
Why am I alone
in this deep night? Where kin
mine own? Is that you,
that face, the
face I saw in the crowd?

Did you not die? I heard of it.
Never gathered the courage
to come, see for myself.

VI.

What was
his name who we learned of
Eli and Abraham from?

You just don't understand me.
I feel like I'm talking to a ******* wall.
And to be honest.
I'm done.
And tired.
I'm tired of having this fake smile plastered on my face.
Everything isn't all fine and dandy.
I'm. .. Lost.
I'm outcasted.
And no matter how much I say I accept it...
It doesn't make me feel like I belong anywhere.
I belong no where.
I don't belong here.
Im sorry.  
But this girl   has forever stopped smiling.
And no this isn't my suicide note.
Believe me,I wish it was...
This is a piece of paper... with a bunch of truth written on it.

And these truths are my feelings deep down.
The feelings that created these scars.
The feelings I try so desperately to hid.
Yeah. There's nothing for me here. Is what I think. I'm just wasted space.
I don't belong in this world of...perfects.
Im just a girl who doesnt feel that im good enough.
On the outside I smile like everythings fine.
But on the inside I break and crumble wishing these days would finally be over.
I try to think happy. But all I get in return is rejection?
No matter how much I sing beautiful day by U2 or Bad Day...
My life just doesn't turn around.
I don't have one friend that I can talk to.
And I can't talk...because...
My problems. I just can't  I convey.

Outcasted kid with purple hair

Albeit not the kind of violet
That made your nostrils drip
With a watery ambrosia
Sugary enough to belong to a bee

And not the kind of
heavy, royal, omnipresent
contentment plum presents as a
molten lava
perfecting the pockmarks in the pie

My tendrils were not reminiscent of
home or
anything savoury so

I tangled them in tiaras
belonging to some Duchess' daughter or
one of Henry's wives or

Maybe twined them round
Frita's pallet and
Dyed my scalp a more pleasing hue or
Anything other than purple

Because purple was what I was not
Purple was Lilacs and
Pansies and Heliotropes and Tulips and
Lavender and

That little wild flower aforementioned

whose name I can't bare say
for the sake of
a humble beauty
such as hers

'twould be a shame to make comparable
To the wet-dog-fur look
Of my purple hair

And so I learned to get lost

In a past I always felt my own
Traveling continents and
Floating through eons

While my classmates  coloured in
British Columbia and
Where is Nunavut again?

Growing, I gained companions

A faery,
Athena,
Aslan and
Frodo, Einstein, Plato,
Theodore Geisel, Mahatma Ghandi
and Louis Leakey, Jamal Dewar,
Joan of Arc and John Lennon and
it all became
more complicated

Because my world was in flux
Oh it ebbed and it flowed and it expanded
Like the molten plum but this time
It really was more like lava

Assuredly you'll understand;
See the seams in our stitching!
Our Worlds are sewn together!

And as much as we would like
to cling to our
individualism

at some point we all must
accept that there is
but one

Intrinsic as our innards
Are our atoms and
Electrons and
mine are yours and
yours are hers and
ours together are all of the stars and
it really is
beautiful

At some point the twisting shroud
The squeezing and contracting -
of the world inside my head and
the world inside my eyes and
the world I was walking around in
and the world that I saw above me -
it tensed then halted
and became very dense
then melted

What a glorious
Ubiquitous, secure and everlasting amalgamation!
I opened my eyes
To find Van Goghs Scissors
All bloodied still and so
I cleaved my purple hair

But to find Hieronymus' oils and
watercolours so
I made my skin a hellish canvas
Painted all in yellows and blues
Without a hint of purple

Now from shoulders to forearm to wrist
from breast to navel to hip
from thigh to calf to foot
legible as anything are
lines that lilt and gleam
sighing songs of
devils and cherubs alike
and of sparrows and snakes

So after heaven is hell
and after hell is Nirvana
And Manna is as good as dirt
if Ambrosia is but
the spit of a bee

It all always works out
Because at the end comes
Death and after that
We don't know
But I do know that
I don't know
Much at all to begin with

Except for four things, almost assuredly:
1. Energy is all
2. I will never cease to find shouting at people from my bedroom or a car window amusing
3. My mother loves me more than anyone
4. Nothing is certain, except for uncertainty

Nine years later
I still feel everything.
Potent ****** reaction.
Guilt has caused
Riverbed cheeks.

This single image
That I've kept buried
In an attempt to leave behind
Is seared into my mind.

It plays out:
My mother is there;
up against the wall.
Pig-tailed braids
And slender in overalls.

Cowering
In hyperventilation
And sobs
Looking so child-like,
Cornered
By 3 betrayals in human form.

Voices raised in accusation
Ripping into her
In my bedroom.

Feeling ill and lost
I lie face down on the bed,
Covering my ears,
Screaming.

Blocking out
The family fight
Chaotic and ferocious,
Like worlds end
Crumbling my foundation

Only feet away
Words like daggers
Slathered in anger,
Hate, and distrust.

I couldn't handle
Seeing my mom like that;
Bullied, scared,
And broken down.

Hated and attacked
By a husband
Who vowed to love and protect her;
By a son-in-law
Who was meant to respect her;
By my sister
Who was first-born to her.

All because a misunderstanding,
A rumor,
A lie.

And I,
Too young to understand
What this meant,
But who knew the truth,
Didn't come to her rescue.

And now she
Is outcasted and alone
And I
Can't wash myself
Of this searing recollection.

21 years old
I still find myself
Lying face down,
Covering my ears,
Screaming.

She laughs, he smiles.
The black forest taste he could only taste at the peak of light beams
Her laugh seems similar, quite similar.
Her haha's outcasted the glooms and dooms
Just as the black forest melted on his taste buds when sun rays streaked upon his shoulder blades.

She cracked a joke, he laughs and nods
Intellectual is what they might say
A brainy maniac she is, who could co-host a sitcom
His Friday nights would now only be filled with her wits
Replacing all the beers and stouts for a while
His once bumpy and rocky throat is nil compared to the highly raised cheekbones visible during a good laugh

But one day she cried.
The guilt he carries overshadowed his sympathy.
Her big swollen eyes
Her pinkish and warm face which was covered in dribble
Hadn't he known?
All those time he made somersaults, he was drown deep below
He could breakthrough,
but was too mesmerized by the mermaid's blinking fishtail and scaly skin.

And she saved him
From being turned into a merman
Only then he was back to square one
Where her laughters, her jokes and her sobs are actually his sugar crush, his Gatsby gold
As always, she was after all, his soul saver.

Kindergarden-
I shared my crayons with the girl next to me
She broke it and didn’t say sorry
Mommy says she didn’t know better
Why is she mean to me?
First Grade-
I made a new friend today and mom was proud of me
But then she went to play with someone else
She didn’t talk to me me for 10 minutes
Why is she mean to me?
Second Grade-
Third Grade-
We are learning script and I put the letter “Q” on the board
I messed it up a little
Someone laughed at me and then the whole class did
Why are they mean to me?
Fourth Grade-
Fifth Grade-
Sixth Grade-
I just started a new school
I have no friends
Everyone keeps staring at me and whispering
Why are they mean to me?
Seventh Grade-
I met this boy I think I like him
My friends say he likes me
But he wont talk to me at all he doesn’t even see me
Why is he mean to me?
Eighth Grade-
Ninth Grade-
Another new school more new people
I feel so small
The seniors push me around
Why are they mean to me?
Tenth Grade-
I do all my work
I just want to get a good grade
But people tease me about it
Why are they mean to me?
Eleventh Grade-
I gave up on my work
I shut every one out
I am outcasted by the majority
Why are they mean to me?
Twelfth Grade-
Look at the underclassmen I push them around
Look at the classmates that use to laugh at me
I’m laughing at them now
Why am I mean to them?

See-Through Memories

Didn’t you notice?

I rented this apartment,
next to your favorite gelato spot,
Lavender Gelato or whatever it’s called…

Didn’t you notice?

I came back to Budapest,
just to see you,
and also to buy an apartment too…

Don’t you remember?

When I promised,
not to leave you and asked,
for the same promised and you promised too?

Don’t you remember?

When I offered,
you everything this world has to offer,
and all I asked for was a few moments?

I guess we all break our promises…

And now I’m left to watch the waves,
come and crach,
against the castle in the sands,
that we made with our grand plans,

you were going to draw the pictures,
and I was going to write the words,
we were going to create a book,
and share ourselves with the world,

you promised,
you promised you wouldn’t leave,
and that’s exactly what you did,
and love is blind and that’s why I didn’t see…

Can’t you see?

How alone I’ve become,
how all I really ask for,
is a friend to exist here when I feel all alone?

All alone.

A poet who’s words are his only home,
and I don’t know what to do to communicate with you,
so I left you alone retreated to my thoughts and wrote you this poem…

Dear Beloved,

I know there are no words,
that haven’t already been said,
and I know even if I write you everything,
there’s a good chance it won’t be read,

but I write to you anyways,
because that’s what loyalty will make one do,
even though we met spent some time and then you left,
quick and almost automatic like one two…

Where are you?

Where are you reading this from,
do you feel as outcasted as I do,
when you walk these streets in a run?

Hello,

I’m still here,
even though it feels like the world is ending,
and the future is completely unclear,

we’re on unstable ground,
and I’ve retreated to my addictions,
so I smoke a cigarette and think about you,
then I write it all down and call it fiction,

since when,
was it cool to lose all emotion,
I’d give anything just to see you feel,
something anything more than nothing,

no way,
anything I’m going to write or say,
will change your mind or make you feel differently,
hell I don’t even know if you’re going to read this,
but that’s okay because we all go away anyways eventually…

So I guess this is goodbye.

I guess this is some sort of farewell letter,
as I write from my apartment,
right next to that shop,
that one that sells gelato made of lavender…

Do you remember?

I rented this apartment,
next to your favorite gelato spot,
Lavender Gelato or whatever it’s called…

Didn’t you notice?

I came back to Budapest,
just to see you,
and also to buy an apartment too…

Don’t you remember?

When I promised,
not to leave you and asked,
for the same promised and you promised too?

Don’t you remember?

When I offered,
you everything this world has to offer,
and all I asked for was a few moments?

I guess we all break our promises…

And now we’re left just wasting time,
waiting for the rumored apocalypse,
doing whatever we think we’re supposed to do,
as existence existing in what we believe our existence is.

I’m sick of this.

Sick of this body and all it’s accompanying emotions,
I see why you feel better when you try and feel nothing,
because honestly constant musing can feel confusing,
so you’d rather just shut off completely from any feelings…

Hello,

I’m still here,
even though it feels like the world is ending,
and the future is completely unclear,

here,
I wrote you this love letter,
in a humble attempt to arise from within,
those feelings you hide that will help you feel better.

Please,

I’ve already accepted we will likely never see each other again,
all I’m asking is remember one thing,
true love is more rare that you think so no time for pretend,

I know,
believe me I’ve been through a lot,
I’ve hoped loved gained it all,
I’ve broke everything I’ve made and everything I’ve gained I’ve lost,

because you can’t take any of this with you,
the scales of time are not on our side,
nothing is balanced and no one is equal,
there’s no where to run there’s no where to hide,

remind,
me why I write,
these words to you you probably won’t even read them,
because you’d rather listen to their lies.

Why?

Why?

Why are you not here?

When a man asked me why I was in Budapest,
I said I came back for a girl,
and when he asked me,
“Well then where is she?”
I realized I’d been fooled,

by you.

I flew,
across the continent just to see you,
I rented a place next to your favorite gelato spot,
I offered myself without any walls in other words to be see-through.

See you,
have so much potential to achieve anything,
and you had a pretty good chance to have it all,
but now all you’ll have are the memories…

Don’t you remember?

When I promised,
not to leave you and asked,
for the same promised and you promised too?

Don’t you remember?

When I offered,
you everything this world has to offer,
and all I asked for was a few moments?

I guess we all break our promises…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆


03/09/16
Budapest

The sweet of your lips are my only delusion
the idea of love becomes just another illusion
fantasy at its best is pulling me through
insanity taking me near to our world so slow
drugs ,the poison blockin ur voices so clear
labels they printed still fresh on my head
outcasted I am but I still shine
in the etopian realm you are still mine
I am not sleeping with eyes open like you do
our song still pierces my ears through
the urge i control to question my god
coz idols of holy ghosts are just piles of mud
the chill runs down my spine in the road of rope
I deny burning in the warm fire of hope
the portal I have to the new sane world
the world of my thoughts the world in my head !

I'm never really good with words
No, I'm not talking about my vocabulary strength,      
nor my ability to string words into a clean knot of similes and oxymorons at a perfect length
where I appease the regulations of grammar,
and please the cynical brains of strangers,
I am talking about the sound trapped beneath the fat folds of my brain,
the trains of thinking, never-blinking, that keep my outcasted thoughts sane,
I am talking about the voice of a teen filled with angst and unfulfillment
hellfire livid, mistaken as tepid, burning inside the sanctuary's core that is my heart lacking of discernment

I'm never really good with words
No, I'm not talking about my skills at spelling,
nor my knowledge of historical people invested in writing
although I could say I, myself, would become history
just because I write in my own disposition and misery,
but what good would that be?
That my pen speaks louder than my voice,
and that a stick of ink triumphs over the blistering fire raging in my ventricles
Are you not entertained?
Seeing me crumble like lava rocks beneath your toes
and soon, I will be one with the ash that aimlessly goes around
and around and around you and the others that detest my will to speak
because apparently I’m a silent know-it-all, too fragile and meek
to survive in an obstacle course that is my existence  
Enlighten me,
you people who hold the needles and threads
How dare you ask for my preference of color
if my liberty to speak is dead?

I'm never really good with words,
so maybe it would be better not to say them at all

You see things,
you keep quiet about them
and you understand.
Because life changes, friends leave
and life doesn't stop for anybody.

You feel more deeply, isolated
your true heart, so understated
but things you see
as they flicker by
keep that strong resolution within held high.

Pain & suffering are always
inevitable for a large
intelligence and a deep heart.

Time stands still
as life takes your photo
feeling outcasted like Quasimodo.
Life is but a tapestry
one part you and another, me.

You are confined by the
walls you build yourself.

*But never limited to your imagination and desire

In these times we live in-Never has it been morE crucial to realise wether  you are a true child of God...or a servant of the world!At the eve of Good Friday ,take a moment and think.Jesus Christ bore the blame and died for humanities sin-we were truely without hope-we deserved Gods punishment...yet Jesus became our mediator between us and God!His death gave us the salvation to one day spend Eternity outside of damnation...yes free from damnation in the pits of Hell!Jesus died-so that we could live!He left us His Peace!....We need to become aware that the Devil is out to destroy Gods true children-and Is perpetuating the lie that the Peace of the Lord is off this world!If you ever felt restless inside-know that the PeacE of the Lord Jesus is the deeper peace we must look for-and that the  peace being "of a state of mind" is off this world-and there to mislead the true children of God (wether it be financially,emotionally or even reliGiously)We as Gods children need to know that persecution will come against us,for being Gods children!Jesus made it clear that if the world come against us-we should know that it came againSt Him first!Taking a stand may mean facing resistance and being "outcasted"(from relationships,your current work environment etc)But one day when the time of Jesus"s coming happens-judgement upon all of humanity shall happen(for we shall be held accountable for our every deed,good and bad,)The oppression we will face will be because we proclaim Jesus to be the one and only entry unto God-and that He is the only salvation from damnation!For if we profess with our mouth-we profess out loud.Decide in your heart now:if you are ready to rEceive Gods offering-and know that we are like sheep sent out amongst the wolves,yet have a shepard who will watch over us! Jesus has risen from the grave-He triumphed over death and this world!and herein lies the wonder of Gods love:WE have been pardoned by HIS death!!He will come for His true children!!Be Blessed!

her.
        eyeless enigma.

she chasing another listener.

another one tied to fraility
   trying to face the lid-less night,

constellations swarming with his
     questions.

she.

      kindred tornado.

inspiration's explosive alleyway.

she has left me for another.

  left me here.

    sullen, chiseled out,
a hidden sculpture leaking blood.

stuffed in silk,    since the last time  

             she was here.

    where does she hide or linger?

her ghost words waiting in a unseen library waiting for my thoughts to scroll through endless imagination.

muse of the stabbing spruce.

blinking in and out.

I am dejected out into ghost town rain, not even an insect to look at.

she is gone.

my eyes void of color, claws shred the page, she left me, dulled with hangdog drift.

where is she?

shadowing a hitman?

running wild through the next Picasso ear?

how does she imagine me?

  a conflicted whisper outcasted in rain.

where. where. where did she go?

swishing leaves up into the miracle blue air with another.

towering perceptive ideas into the fingers of grace,

flowing down the anxious page smashing mediocre left and right.

**** her. bless her.

she.  

    a butterfly threading golden silk.

her mystery bonding with the population of every Galaxy.

I was rested when she left.

when she returns

  she will not recognize me.

my frazzled hair.  my hotmess trainwreck. my burned up furniture smoldering into the carpet.

Me.

on a rooftop  scrubbing through starlight like my skylight of dreams.

if I wait with patience of Job.

will she sunrise burst me

in fountain light

falling through me

like that lover who exists in the 5th dimension.

rocking my world with pure fire thunder.

where will you find yourself
when the moon asks you to take a rest
when bats flicker around you hair and tug at your braids
you'll remain outcasted from the faucets and radios outlining the nameless avenues you can't bring yourself to call home.
as the rotation restarts
where are you going to be

I follow you like an obsession
Seeing your life from the outside
Noting the smiles that frequent your face
The contentment of yourself in that space
I no longer see that disturbed longing to be free of that place
That backwater town that has no place for me in it
No future
Besides a deadpan existance leading its citizens astray or
Contenting them with a simple life

You have those who love you
Genuine friends and you seem to find a way to be busy
Find enjoyment in that simple existance
Not seeking out the exoteric meanings of life
Re-emerging back into that mentality of everyday people
Happy with just being in the moment in time
Devoid of that driving passion to find meaning in this life
To understand the worlds complexities and learn the beauty that is humanity

The vision I have escribed to myself to seek the truth in this world
To see the nasty and feel a sense of calm in the face of our own self destruction
Feeling as if my mission drives and beliefs are becomeing coersive to your health
How do I connect with you anymore?
You who used to abore the simplicity of your upbringing

I see it now
As you talk to your brothers and sister
I try to communitcate experience your world
But I am an outsider to this realm

My words don't fit
And all eyes make me feel castrated
I don't speak as they do, I use words they don't understand
A language and understanding that they do not employ
Not saying that I am better than anyone of them
Because I know I am not
Humble to the fact
That they don't find those things worth doing
Worth any merit
Secular in their reasoning

I see you fit this mold
This world where I cannot speak
Without offending or offering explination
Leaving me mute,
Feeling outcasted
Dumb to the workings of their order.

But you are a camilion blending in
Taking that world as your own
Transforming before my eyes into someone
I don't know
Or would know if I had realised you were
Developing without me

It is subtle this changing
How the conversation gets more complex on my end
Reaching out for anything that will relate you back to me
My mind becoming a blockade
A boundary to you
Where I crave none

I feel you here in my being
Shifting changing
The face you show me smiling happy
Loved and no longer in need of me
Wondering when you will see this yourself
When this distance will become leagues
And you determine whether it is worth it to cross

I’m bored
I’m bored
I’m bored
I’m bored

Oh
By the way
Did I mention
I’m bored?

Cliches and traditions
Pressure heavy
Outcasted if you don’t
Participate

But oh! Why me!
Me and my
Tired.
Bored.
Soul.

Sometimes us writers
Feel more outcasted
Than the average outsider.


**Gosh we're so analytical

twisted and lost in warped memories....im only destined to fail
i walk amongst the outcasted.....blending in beautifully
i am 'perfectly flawed'
a vermilion mask worn to please
they suffocated what was left of me
turned away in the time of need
why won't someone help me
i am on my knees, begging
'these scars need to heal over'

Be you! The real, original you. In fact, we detest the fake you radiate.
We don't want perfection
Did we stutter?

And then I think of myself. No, I've no scars.
I mean, it's not really possible.
My confidence is out the roof, heck I'm good at most any sport.
And dear goodness, am I smart.
I am just too tough to crack, I am proud of all the jealousy
I am fulfilled; compared to me, you're weak.
I grow taller with her wistful stares.

Though your resentment doesn't crack me.
I sure get angry for your reasoning.
Because with out any sort of listening
you've done outcasted me. But why should I need scars?
Aren't my weaknesses enough?

And as I think of myself, I laugh. A loud enormous goose holler.

Seems I've become a bully. The kind of girl who looks down upon your intellect. I knew the answer - I knew yours was wrong, and it didn't take long before you were inferior.
Remember, I'm confident.
Because I'm at home, and I wonder, and I find my answers.
I find them for that one time, I blurted right out from my mind, the little detail - I was pleased to know, but I turned around and they'd grown cold.
Now I'm perfect, and it must be worth it, even in exhaustion.
Better be the loud one, who voices the corrections.
Better than the dumb son who never learns his lessons.

Certainly, I'm desirable: fit, thin and strong.
But the girl he wants has a larger chest
than the one he calls his own.
And I could claim as mine
any of the Brains
We could connect through intellect, but what's to happen when
I'm running hard, dropping sweat, and he can't comprehend why I'd raise my pulse to feel the heat
when none of my workouts compete with the videos found through internet.

But the thing that really breaks me is the hatred
of my confidence.
I couldn't possibly understand them.
That is the belief.
So I sit alone, set in stone - practically emotionless
and the eyes that penetrate me detest that I don't shiver
But it's hard to make a movement when my walls have grown so tall
It's my reply to all
the voices.

I've no other choices.

I'll be the "fake" one that you label
Throw me in the gutter.
The real me wants perfection.

*Did you hear me freaking stutter?

Family ain't always family. Ever felt like you were on the outside? Ever felt like you were outcasted? Ever felt like you didn't get in the family? It be like that sometimes. We are all born into a family but that doesn't mean you're family. Family is more than those who you're connected to by blood. Family loves you, cares for you and there for unconditionally.
The ones who aren't your blood treat you better than the ones who are your blood. A brother ain't always a brother. A sister ain't always a sister. A father ain't always a father. A mother ain't always a mother. Just let it sink in and marinate in your mind. Families aren't as close as they should be.

The ones we should keep close, we distance ourselves from. Let's put the hate down and let's share the love. Life is too short to have so much hate in our hearts. It's easier to love than it is to hate. Why spend your whole life mad and angry about something so simple? Is it worth it? What if they die, would you be okay with that? All that anger you're carrying around ain't doing nothing but hurting you.

Insects welcoming themselves
in and around her eyes,
rushing the universal act
known as decomposition,
but they will just have to wait,
for she is not yet ready
to experience the encore
of cruelty.

A veil to secure
her condemned health;
tho’ there is no use
when she sees
little strings of blood
in her *****.

Maggots drilling deep
into her wretched gut,
a pool of forsaken oil
pouring out between
ghost white fingers,
and staining feet
with its cancer.

Outcasted by those
still blessed by ignorance,
she continues to stumble
under these street lights,
forming puddles
in her death gaze.

They did this to me. Do you hear me just take a ******* look at me. I used to be normal I swear I was. I lived in a modern house with a beautiful family; I was beautiful, I wasn’t always this ugly.

The thing about “normal” is that it’s just another stupid label from society. You’re “normal” if you live a life for the pleasure of everyone besides your own good. I was tired of this repetition. Living a life demonstrated around the successful people of society. To clarify when I say successful I mean wealthy, not happy. Maybe it was the unsatisfactory that did this to me, but that unsatisfactory was caused by THEIR standards.

One day It all just snapped. I was staring at a mirror looking into the eyes of the devil. His perfect, clothes, his perfect hair, just all of his perfection. Without any recognition my fist defied gravity and flew in the air, straight into the mirror. Straight into his ****** grin. I sat there laughing. Laughing at the blood on my hand. Laughing at my now externalized pain I’d been holding in for so long. Laughing at my insanity.

I couldn’t play the role of normal after this, so they caught on to me. They feared me because I was a display of their darkest fantasies. However they wouldn’t admit it. Now here I am locked up in an asylum declared insane, all because I questioned the rules of the game.

If i kept quiet,
If i let the comment slide,
If i tried to please the people i lost,
I would be considered pretty,
I would be liked by my boyfriends parents and family,
I would be a leader in a religious community,
And i would have gone with my boyfriend to get his tattoo today and would now be getting home from a nice birthday dinner with his family instead of fighting back tears, violently rummaging through my brain, looking for the filing cabinet labeled "flaws".
I couldn't help asking myself "what is wrong with me? What did i do wrong?"

Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me. Something is wrong with you. Something is wrong with you.
You do not like me because i am not just not a pretty face with a silent smile they thought i was upon first glance. I am not always girl with her hands folded in prayer and her legs crossed. I am more then that. I have always been more then that.
You are scared,
Disgusted,
And angry.  
All because i speak up,
All because i question the unquestionable,
All because im different.
I do not just socialize with the outcasted, I hold hands with your sinners and call them "friends", and mean it when i say it.
You can follow your bible so far.  
You can not fake actions and feelings just because that book told you to.
You can not say something and mean another.
Your skin is not enough opaque,
I can see that your heart is transparent.

I am not sorry and will never be sorry that dizzied your mind.
Im am not sorry that i pulled away the fog that you have always ben accustomed to.

And now your scared.
Scared that you are not "number 1"
Scared that i will take away your son,
Scared that I will change him,
And scared to admit that it is all happening right in front of you,
But you choose to close your eyes.
And if you open them,
Even just for a peek,
You pout,
You stomp your massive feet,
and you inflict the one thing that i will never purposefully inflict on your son,
Pain.
Congratulations.

I may not ooze adoration, but i my actions can speak "love"  to a stranger louder then your carefully chosen descriptive, cryptic lingo ever could.

Your love holds no weight.

And now I feel a sadness that clings to my back and climbs through my heart.
I am the outcast because of you again.
I think he's in control,
But i forget he's still your puppet.
But he's nibbling at the strings.

I missed out today-
But you will miss out for a lifetime is you keep this up.
So listen.
He loves me.
He loves you too.
I know you don't believe in evolution,
But you can not stop him from evolving.
I didn't do anything to him.
If he didn't hear some words of wisdom from me,
He would eventually hear all of them from someone else.
So stop punishing me because you are ignorant.
Because you are ultimately punishing him when you punish me.

Let me tell you a story,
Of death and a boy.
The boy was dead inside,
Outcasted and harassed,
But his friend and at last his family.

So walking along the street,
No one else had gone upon,
With his ****** body,
And crazy mice.
He met death a waiting.

As his time had come first.
Death incarnate,
And Living Death,
They talked and slowly but surely,
Became the best of friends.

He did not plead for his life,
Or beg to acquiesced,
Death being surprised,
At someone so unsure, being so content.
Broke the Law and the Word,
And let the boy go away.

One day the boy was a man,
In his own disfigured way.
Innocent at heart,
****** in all but the brain.
He walked with stones,
Hoping the weigh his fate.

And Death still followed,
As the protector and procreator,
The one friend that remained.

But alas Death grew sad,
As he looked ahead in time,
And saw that this lie would have to be corrected,
Dave would have to die.

So along the beaten path,
That got colder and colder,
The man became sad,
Yet sure in his task.
Suicide was his only option,
His desire for control on his fate.
What irony, what pity,
To see the trap that lay.
The universe is a cruel thing,
And it had been made late.

The man got to the cliff, at the end of the forest,
When readying to jump,
The lion took him head first,
And mauled, and ungutted,
He screamed and begged for help.

But his screams did not last long,
As Death settled in.
The look of fear, of recognition,
And a lone tear let out,
With his last lifeful look,
Into the eyes of his very first and last friend.