"outcasted" poems
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.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 1:49 AM UTC
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
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC
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
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:29 PM UTC
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.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
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.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
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.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
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.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
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.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
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?
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
**Shallow stones skipping across the water careful not to penitrate the surface...maintaining a suave demeanor
All to careful demonstrating a perfect front for the crowd, always pleasing...
Class clown turns bullying into a comedy skit humiliating the girl in the corner who is homeless...If he only walked a mile in her shoes
Thoughtless and unbound acts of the most popular, always shunning the one's whose crowd is smaller
Its not easy being the underdog, the less fortunate...outcasted by societys cruel intentions bound from a silver platter**
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
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 !
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
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
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
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?
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 9:38 AM UTC
*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
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
I don't belong,
I don't believe,
I don't feel ...
This is how I was,
this is what it was like.
Before,
before my thoughts,
before I felt.
I didn't belong,
I felt outcasted.
If you can't take me,
for who I am,
then why,
just please tell me why,
should I put myself there,
in a place,
where I don't belong anymore ?
I've found better things,
a place I can be,
and never feel misplaced.
I've found better people,
who accept me for me.
So tell me now,
why in the world,
would I go back to a place,
where I just don't belong anymore ?
People change, feelings fade,
nothing stays the same.
I still consider you,
every one of you,
a friend.
Someone who's changed my life,
but I don't belong here,
so I'm going somewhere,
with someone,
where I belong.
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 8:20 AM UTC
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!
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
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.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
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
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
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
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
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.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 2:19 PM UTC
No place for me to fit in, sometimes not even my own skin
The 65th crayon on the floor next to the 64 count special edition tin
The two dollar DVD bin is even out of reach, at a loss as to where else to begin
I guess it's back to the drawing board to start over once again
Not a chance of bein' normal as an outcasted heathen
But that's never been a why for me, to fit in is not a win
I've been sittin' in this same place like a mannikin with a phoney grin
A clothespin holdin' together the fabric of my being with such discipline
But a strong gust of wind tears through like blowing your nose into a cheap napkin
Patched together like a quilt of sin read like a story board of which I'm a star in
Stitched together by not giving in, givin' it all I can, taking every shot to the chin
But life's not getting the win by KO or even by decision
I'm gonna need to be taken out the ring on a stretcher with blue skin
But the goal isn't really to win but to survive this doomed zeppelin
I start thinking maybe I can take this aggression and passion and turn it in...
...to a winnin' combination and spread it through the nation
Empower an entire generation, awaken an entire population
But all they'll see is Frankenstein's monster
©2018
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
I love you
Three words that should be easy to say right?
Well they are easy when you don’t mean them
But when you do, it’s like a war inside you
And it’s the hardest thing to ever do
Thoughts of denial and being outcasted
The fear of rejection and laughter
These build up as you look at the one you wish to say them to
And you realize simply that it just takes two seconds
Two seconds that can either make or break your world
Two seconds that can build you up or shatter you to the ground
And yet you pray that it’s received
You pray that the words are reciprocated
Those two seconds can feel like an eternity
And the second after can make you regret ever saying them
The fear can build so great that the words never come out
Or it builds so much that the words turn to a plague
A plague in which the fear takes hold
And once the words are uttered
You have instant regret and shame
So much that you run and hide
Let not the fears of these words control you
For if you just take a moment and breath
It might become easier to pass them out
And finally say them to the one they are truly meant for
The one that those words built so much fear
The one with whom they are mutual
The one in which will smile and feel relief
For they too had difficulty saying
I love you
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
Sometimes us writers
Feel more outcasted
Than the average outsider.
Gosh we're so analytical
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Three siblings;
They are three of the best things in my life,
I write this as they play outside, I’m on my fall break and I haven’t seen them but two times this year (Including now)
I look to his little hand wrapped around my finger,
He’s only three,
He’s a brunette with blue eyes,
His laugh brightens my day,
He can’t say my name, whenever he sees me, no matter if I was only gone 5 minutes..
He outstretches his arms and yells “Anya, I missed you!!”
He’s curious of the world.
He’s oblivious to the world’s wretched wonders around him,
He wants to analyze everything like we do,
He will only be like this for a short time..
I look at him, as he dribbles the soccer ball,
He’s five,
He’s a a brunette with blue eyes
His encouragement keeps me going,
He always asks me “Why can’t you be here everyday with us”?”
He thinks he is grown,
As if he could take on the entire world..
I look over to her; my only sister, she absorbed in poetry
She’s nine,
She’s a brunette with blue eyes,
Her smile eases the pain,
She’s so intelligent for her age; I see so much in store for her
She says “When I grow up, I want to be like you!”
She always talks about growing up…
She’s ready to break free
I’m the oldest sister,
I’m fifteen,
I’m blonde with green eyes,
Even being different from these three; age, looks, lifestyle.. For once I don't feel outcasted
My voice is recognized by them anywhere,
I vow every time they are near that I will protect them,
I always promise these kids “You’ll see me again...” I say as I walk to the car with packed bags
I always thought about leaving everything behind…
But these kids, are three reasons I’m still here.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
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?
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC