"outcasts" poems
You don’t need to try so hard.
You can wear the clothes you want.
Do whatever you please,
Express yourself the way you know how.
You can wear those heels
Just because you love them.
Your true friends will accept you
And all your little quirks.
It’s time to let it go,
Let go of all your fears of judgement.
Stop caring what people think of you,
It’s none of your business anyways.
You are who are for a reason.
You’re crazy, eclectic,
A miss independent and a little rebellious.
You like to defy the norms of society
So why aren’t you doing it?
Let go of all those rules and make your own.
You’ve always stood for the outcasts,
Paving your own path,
Cutting the trees blocking your way.
Why care now about fitting in
When you’re a shining gem?
You were born to lead, to conquer.
This is your destiny, you’ve always worn
Your individuality just like a badge.
Don’t become submissive,
Stop looking for approval,
You won’t find it anywhere
But inside of yourself.
It’s the self-acceptance that comes first,
There’s no better friend than you.
Go on, look in the mirror.
Remember, you better like who you are,
That is the person you’ll be stuck with
For the rest of your life.
Enjoy all the strangeness,
All the weird parts of your personality.
There’s no refunds, no exchanges.
You are who you are and that
Is perfection; no matter what anyone says.
Accept who you are now,
Accept all the growth to come.
You can accomplish even your
Wildest dreams, those shooting stars.
It’s time to just be,
Time to stop leaning on societies
Ideals and march on out
With head held up high.
Self acceptance is all you need.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
Live in the shadows
And flee from the sun,
An army of rebels
Marching as one.
Mingle your voice
With the other outcasts,
Your single goal
Is to simply outlast.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
So many people
have bad things happen to them
Many people
Become Insecure
Completley unstable
they get wish washy
sometimes they act out through arrogance
and ignorance
I know so many
I have seen so many people been taken away by insecurity
over powered by it
drowned in it
they get so jealous
so mean
Sometimes they plot
Sometimes they scheme
sometimes they cling to others
sometimes they become outcasts
sometimes they hurt themselves
sometimes they tear the greatest of friends apart
all to be loved
I try to save them
tell them no
but they wont listen
they are too tuned out
but you have to imagine their pain
you have to put yourself in their shoes
insecurity is not an excuse
Its a real thing
But yet people need to learn to control it
there is no place in this world for week personalities
Insecure people can also cause pain in others
others who try to care for them
and love them
OTHERS WHO ACTUALLY STICK UP FOR THEM
Insecure people become jealous and just stab them in the back
then they suffer
Then they cry
then they have pain to hide
those people who do nothing but try to help an understand only get hurt
those people are just
like
Me.
Mar 25, 2011
Mar 25, 2011 at 10:02 PM UTC
I bleed letters, breathe words--
lived in utero with a pen.
Creative gypsies & outcasts
are brethren.
I will die
for their plaid sky brushstrokes
&/or verbal slip-bang poetry.
That's my religion.
Self-doubt is my sin.
I have a habit of overstaying my welcome,
another is coming on a little strong.
Communication is my mantra,
my philosophy is intelectual stimulation.
Putting up with ****
is second nature.
Spit in my face.
Call me names.
Don't give me that promotion.
I'll survive--
probably even laugh about it later...
But...
take advantage of me--
or those I hold close--
if I even see a glint
of the knife
you're going to put in my back
I promise--
I promise
the pain you will feel
leaves a scar much worse
than whatever could happen to me.
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
their voices are stolen away
but even if they were to get it back,
their lips are welded
and shackled to their fears.
theistic idols
shaped predominantly
by the culture in which one is raised.
contradictory fallacies
leading society away from
self dependency.
im tired of being a minority!
apparently your god bestowed to me
this voice
this brain
this body
this mind
so...
im utilizing it.
i refuse to be oppressed any longer
i refuse to believe i was created
by some deity that claims
people have the free will to do as they please.
If god gave man free will,
how can everything be a part of god's plans?
If everything is a part of god's plans,
how can we have free will?
I refuse to be oppressed any longer.
I dug deep within my fears
and yanked my voice back.
I no longer fear being a minority,
I embrace it.
a society where minorities are scared to have a voice?
stand up,
find your voice,
and use it.
We are more than outcasts.
We are minorities
and together,
we can eradicate the title.
We're human.
- d.b.d.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
It's funny how nowadays if we see someone we know,
We nod our head up.
And if we see someone we don't know,
We nod our head down.
But when we see ourselves in the mirror,
We don't know what to do.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC
Nobody believes in me. But, neither do I, and that’s OK. But they don’t really know how I am, and if they knew, I am pretty sure they wouldn’t feel the same way. I sometimes feel like coming out of the closet, not because I am gay, but just for my personality. Then, I realize we are all in the closet. Even when you come out of the closet, you search for somewhere else to hide. But basically nobody will get out of the wardrobe, which makes sense, because we judge. We dislike everything. How people talk, dress, look, or even walk. We are so caught up on ******** that we don’t even get to evolve as people. I know I don’t. Could that be part of the system we grew up in? How do we differentiate a critique from simply judging. The critique highway goes straight into judge, or does it not? We might say — this is just a critique, it’s for your own good— but in reality, most of the times, we have already spoken about it to someone else. Why do we always need to get people’s approval to fit into this world, and therefore, are most unpopular “outcasts” really the most honest people to be around. I will never know, because I am as guilty as everyone else. Involved in the society that simply sits in the caffe window watching people pass by as you consider yourself better than them. Whatever. Once again, I am no better. I just find it sad to think that I am always searching from approval by bashing on other people, who have decided to live their life without caring about the dumb girl sitting by the window.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 9:49 PM UTC
On old mainstreet, sits an old café,
Where home-town-grown musicians play.
Sometimes they like to change its name,
But the clientele stay just the same.
When times are tough down in the town,
You know you can’t get the Black Dog down.
Rednecks and faux-necks and used-to-be-loggers,
Crafters and rafters, and activist bloggers,
And poets and hippies and mystics and fools,
And outcasts from the secondary schools,
And gypsies too: you’ll find them here,
Drowning in local, hand-crafted beer.
At night, locals sip organic tea,
And turn up the menagerie
Of lights and mics from another age,
Pieced together to make a stage.
And there, the guitarists waste their breath
Beating the Same. Four. Chords. To. Death.
There are some new lyrics, there and here,
But all of them memories of yester-year:
A year spent in the same **** space,
With others who’ve never left this place.
They sing of their dear loves and pasts,
And how much longer the wandering lasts.
And on they wail, and on they moan,
And twang the antique, rustic tone,
But their faces show they like it here,
This breaking haunt of yester-year,
And after the set, they carouse with cheer,
And smile contentedly to their beer.
On old mainstreet sits an old café,
Where home-town-grown musicians play.
Sometimes they like to change its name,
But the clientele stay just the same.
When times are tough down in the town,
You know you can’t get the Black Dog down.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 3:17 AM UTC
I drop my pencil under a guy's chair and my friend convinces me to ask him for it back because "he's nice I promise" so I work up the courage to call his name as loud as I dare and I just start talking so I can tell him what happened before I lose my nerve, but halfway through I notice he's not listening at all and instead of asking for my pencil I ask him to ignore me. He does.
I met a boy and he was intriguing and clever and sarcastic and not unattractive and I thought he had potential but I waved in the hall and he didn't wave back and he didn't want to sit next to me in class.
I invite a boy I've known since 3rd grade to sit next to me in class, and he does, but then his friend shows up and there's a wistful look in his eyes. He doesn't talk to me, and he switches his seat the next day.
I sit at a crowded lunch table full of people I don't like because the people I do are outcasts. I don't have time to eat all my food.
I switch lunch tables to sit with my crush, by invitation of a friend. They ignore me to talk to each other. I try to join. I ask what's so funny. They shake their heads. He's sitting almost on top of me because the tables are so small but he never even turns to look at me.
Last year he sat with us and talked mostly to me and her table was having drama and fighting and now they all wear skirts to school and look pretty and my eyes are puffy and my legs have a light layer of fuzz which is easy to see because I'm still so pale.
I was the only person to sit alone on the first day of biology class and when I walked in the second day a girl who's never been particularly nice to me and wasn't in the class yesterday is there. She's excited to see me. She asks me to sit next to her. She looks at my paper while I write. I don't say anything because I don't want to sit alone anymore.
I'm stressed out by the second day. Unprepared.
718 more days.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
We live a life of secrecy,
It is not our choice,
Society makes us outcasts,
Some do not accept us,
Others judge us,
We are true to ourselves,
We were born this way,
We are gay,
Lesbians,
Bisexuals,
Transgender,
***********
We are drag queens,
We are weird,
Different,
Original,
We are true,
No one can change that,
Whether they judge,
Scream.
Yell,complain,
Or refuse us,
We will stand tall,
And we will be strong.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
Maybe we're not mistfits
Maybe we're just as we should be
This world doesn't need
Another prom queen
We're in desperate need
Of the outcasts
The activists
The artists
The conspiracy theorists
Trying to break the system
We don't need more people
Trying to teach us polynomials
We need to see kindness
First hand
Someone to set the example
Maybe we're not misfits
Maybe we're just crazy enough
To make a difference
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
**** yourself…
Is what they say
To the hopeless girl
With the scars scattered across her skin
And tears going down her cheeks
**** yourself…
Is what they say
To the frightened boy
With glasses pushed upon his nose
And school books just ready to learn
**** yourself…
Is what they say
To the independent girl
With a very unique flow and attitude
And male clothing covering from head to toe
**** yourself…
Is what they say
To the insecure boy
With his lips all glossed up with lip-gloss
And his hand clutched tightly between another boys’
**** yourself…
Is what they say
To the outcasts
The Self-harmers,
As if they aren’t already considering it!
To the Nerds,
As if they aren’t already being made fun of!
To the Transgenders,
As if they aren’t already been judged enough!
To the Homosexuals,
As if they haven’t heard it once before!
**** yourself…
Is what they say
To the Gays
The Straights
The Geeks,
And the Weirdoes
**** yourself…
Is what they say
To the ones who are misunderstood
And who are scared to even express themselves…
ALL BECAUSE OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU!
By Zyanneh Frazier
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
God gave me voice
not to be silent
but to scream out
about mercy and violence
about rights and wrongs
about beauty of world
about child labor
about colorful rainbow
about witch trials
about love and desire
about lies and betrayals
about lost, drug addicts, outcasts, homelessness
and most of all about His forgiveness.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
For the lonely,
for the loveless,
for the forgotten and overlooked,
for the discarded and trodden on,
for the neglected,
for the ignored and mocked,
for societies weeds,
for circumstantial weeds.
For you outcasts are weeds
the flowers nobody wants,
but
weeds are resilient.
They persevere where others can not.
Often mistaken for weak, but no,
weeds are strong
and tough enough to break through tonnes of concrete
and metal.
Clever enough to find growth in places
others perish in.
Adaptable to every habitat and
brave enough to exist on barren wasteland.
Weeds need only the tiniest of a chance to flourish
For the unwanted,
for the unclaimed.
You are beautiful.
You are equal to every other flower.
You are the Charlock, the Buttercup, the Clover,
the Pinapple-May-Weed and so much more.
Next time you see a **** by the roadside,
or peeking out from a crack in a wall,
or between paving slabs in a busy city,
or overgrown in a garden,
or weaving through rubble and debris,
take heart
lonely ones.
You are not worthless
You are magnificent.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
I saw the smooth hands of children grow calloused,
sanded by the empty hopes
that the cold has whittled down and sharpened into crucifixion nails.
Dragging their feet through broken glass and street waste, one shoe one sock,
I thought they were just urban children, or the ones
in malaria countries. But I see them stagger now, older, defeated
baring their bodies and chewing on their brains, teaching the little ones
how to polish shoes and hide in alleys that smell like **** and assault.
That one looks like me, his guardian about my size, so I pull my coat closer.
I recognize him from school in the smell of unwashed hair and the gurgle of
A self-digesting gut, nothing to soak up the acid that burns his throat.
I watched the world ******* them into hunched shoulders and boney legs
that have forgotten how to hug and run, trapping them in a constant state of shuffling
to the music of moans and cries for help. They come together in an urchin clan underneath bridges and on the exit ramps of highways.
Prophets of the future clutching at signs about war and veterans, the bad economy and the children they can’t feed.
Ten dollars to the one with the mut. Offer him a smoke.
Politicians act like clean-up crews, counting them like statistics;
This one is gone, the one on Brown street died,
We got rid of the one looking for cans in the student neighborhood.
Charity elevates them into a an opportunity—
A little money to the unfortunate is like bleach for your soul. Just enough
to get the smell of affair out of your hair, or to clean up the poison in your veins.
God helps the outcasts; five dollars ought to do it.
I shudder at our similarities. Brown hair, brown eyes, smart.
His sign ignores no rules of grammar and deserve credit for its precise calligraphy,
The dog at his side is ***** and worn like the stuffed toy
I covet from the nights in my crib—the same. He is a victim of people, I am a victim of people
Both someone’s child, both like dogs.
I watch as he turns into a younger man, and then an old man, and then a woman,
A child with no shoes and crucified hands, the boy in my class with eyes that devour.
I walk home, wondering what kind of charity will save me from myself.
And that is the problem.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
To the outcasts
Do what it takes to outlast
The seemingly endless backlash
You were made to surpass
All the useless trash
~~~~~~~~
Don't forget that some of the worlds greatest figures were outcasts who changed the world because they were different.
They saw the world differently
And they had courage to be and stay different even when branded as an "outcast"
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
Society scoffs when a man
holds hands with a man. Shakes
their head at a woman kissing
another woman. For-fidelity to them
is between the opposite. When
it's between love and love
Rainbows are for the outcasts
of society. Yet for innocent
children Where same genders
holds hands with out a problem
These colors represent a place
where a pot of gold exists
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:45 PM UTC
I will not attribute honor
To easy principles and claims
That war is just a plaything
Of the murderous insane
For the Jews of Amsterdam
For the outcasts and the lame
The hard won liberation
For honor lays good claim
Let’s not attribute honour
Or repudiate the same
Without examination
Of the motives in the frame
Behind each complex battle
To bring calm or to inflame
Ten thousand tiny choices
One for honor, one for shame.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 3:14 PM UTC
Some say anger is a wasted emotion,
Id argue that anger is why we are free from Hawaii to the Atlantic Ocean
Some say anger only breed’s violence and hate,
I disagree; anger is the reason for every revolution to date
Some peoples anger burns hot and takes control,
Mine kept chilled, a reptilian soul
A warm blooded mammal with a cold reptilian soul, Trying to make sure anger is used correctly from the far east to the close to home west.
Einstein dared to solve Mc squared.
So I will teach y’all to be angry, sharpened teeth bared
Then you will be taught,
How to teach. For anger with out purpose is for naught
I fight for change,
Till I stand limp on the big bad mans firing range
Some say anger is for those with nothing left
I say anger is the beating behind this planets chest
Some say anger is for outcasts and bums.
Yes anger is for outcasts. The too short the too tall, the too smart the too dumb
The too fat the too skinny, the too poor the too rich
Anger is for outcasts and bums.
Some say anger is a wasted emotion, yet for me, anger drives me when I write these poems
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Let’s talk of love,
Of sunsets,
And peace,
Let’s talk of roses
And romance,
And full glasses of champagne.
Let’s,
Talk of joy
And having a baby,
And windchimes,
And feasts,
And,
Well,
Anything.
But let’s not talk of hate,
Or war
Or crimson rivers;
Wounds crackling with pus,
Popping scabs,
The sizzling gashes on my face.
Don’t speak of lost soldiers with forgotten limbs.
Don’t think,
Of discrimination,
And sorrow,
And divided skin.
Don’t waste a single breath
On misfits,
Outcasts,
Or widows.
Ignore conversing about infants
Left in the gutter,
Or orphans without arms,
Or bombings,
Or fire in the streets.
Don’t mention parents
Who **** their children.
I don’t want to know
About ******
Trauma,
And ****
Don’t look at the spires
Constructed of bodies,
With insects crawling out holes,
And eating out frowns.
Absolutely never speak,
Of anger and sadness
And anything in between.
Why bother with illness
Of mind,
Body,
Spirit.
Forget about the times
When liberty bled.
That’s not on my conscience.
Why mention families,
Torn,
Apart.
Why speak of agony,
And brokenness,
And death?
Don’t speak,
Of suffering
At all.
But let’s talk,
About anything,
And everything,
Anything at all.
As long
As it’s not,
You.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
PART I: ADRIFT
Madness passed Misery
and bumped into me.
We travel together now,
Islands lost at sea.
Ahead, Tomorrow rides,
pinned to the sunrise.
Yesterday dogs us,
marking our tides.
Empty atolls pass
on windborne paths.
Now homes to only bones;
more dead outcasts.
The Ocean never laments
or attempts to make sense.
We just wander across it
until living relents.
PART II: VAGRANT
Lagoon to lagoon,
harboring my tether.
Giving me shelter
from daily storms.
Lost in the masts,
a paper boat.
Taking on water...
as expected.
A lucky hook
snares the soggy craft.
Dried and opened:
a cry for .
When no reply came,
a folded flotilla
Whitened the water,
a cry now screaming.
This harbor now empties.
My travels resume.
PART III: DREAM
The sea fades to gulls, and then,
a delta rushed with mountainfulls.
I've become a salmon fighting upstream,
an island lost in a riverbed dream.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Draw upon the breath of stars, and scorch my heart with fiery scars
Scars that linger from my past. A past that lies with lies and outcasts
Tied to fears of fearing flaws...insecure…. like never before.
Paradise, a sweet reprise to heartfelt sighs and moonlit nights
Starlit sheets and reddened cheeks, eye to eye and tightened thighs.
A face that takes my breath away.
A heart to steal my soul today.
A smile to stop the world from spinning
A laugh to make my head start swimming.
Disarmed, with you in my arms words lose all meaning.
Eyes pierce mine and landmine my mind
Lips seal mine and line my life with diamonds
Priceless and unbreakable diamonds.
A gemstone life.
Emerald eyes. Pearl skin, Morganite lips and flawless fingertips
Overdosed on what I want most, coming close to those and doting shows.
It shows through rose tinted sight and might just last if lasting lasts at last.
Dreamlike days and sleepless nights have shrouded my sight with blinding light
My eyesight has been gored.
Just one more day until my sight is restored.
By she who has been long adored.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
Stretchy sticky tape can be used for plenty
like preventing loose lips from spilling secret information
make 'em taste adhesive next time they lick crackly mouths
serve as a reminder of the importance of person-person confidentiality.
Some just can't keep a good story in their head
which is why they shout
and beg for the forgiveness of their unpopular ways
I love all these outcasts
because I feel I should, as do many others
they want to feel like good people
holy
and sometimes you find
you do enjoy the company of the strange
and I find
that I thrive on absurdity and being a ******
because it's exhausting to try to be normal
so you just act a fool and laugh
because you love to read about politics and physics
and you still enjoy
being un-sober
though it isn't apparent to all because you aren't so obvious
(except now)
and you know roughly who you are
at least have some ideas as to who you aren't,
you aren't a princess or an athlete,
you're not valedictorian, not perfect
just a humble little ****** with birds for brains
flying out of your ears
a whole flock of 'em
chirping away eating worms
early in the morn'
just insane in the dark.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
It's been awhile since you've crossed my mind
Since I felt those memories and our lives entwined
Our film playing silently in the back
While our lives continue swiftly, steadily on track
And it's been awhile since I've heard your voice
That obnoxious laugh and those playful jokes
Your music that you so passionately create
Those songs you wrote, beautifully defined fate
And that smile of yours that gleamed like the sun
Paired with deep blue eyes like the raging rivers that run
Those dark brown locks that curled ever so slightly around
And for a moment everything ceases to make a sound
It's been awhile since I walked down our path
Since I entered those classrooms, since we were those outcasts
I haven't listened to our songs or read through our texts
I haven't talked about you or gone to such depths
As I remember more then anything they said
I knew you like non of them ever would
Define toxic, manipulative and wrong
But even if it's so, you're still my favourite song
And I loved you my dear, with a sincerest heart
But from the very beginning it was destine to fall apart
I miss you, and everything that we were
Even if now that period of contentment is only a b l u r
We talked for awhile, only moments ago
And it was as if for a second, time would slow
We talked about your girlfriend and for that I'm truly happy
I'm glad you found somebody perfect for you I say
As I attempt not to be too sappy
No matter the past, present and future
I'm glad you were a key part of my life
You gave me the world even if it were just a night
As in a world that is dark you were my light
And for that I'm eternally grateful
***It's been awhile
Even so
I still love you all the same***
~
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 12:21 AM UTC
We are outcasts
Children born into dark
We listen to music that relates to us
We try to stand up and make our mark
Everyone thinks we cut
Or that we are depressed
They joke around and say mean things
Think we worship Satan and try to bless
But that's not who we are
That's not all we do
We cry, and laugh
We can love too
Yes, we may cut
And we may want to cry
But all you think we do is
Wish that we could die
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC