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Outcast

I do not belong in the world of men;

I have not the power or the desire to cling
Upon a rigid format
Nor build a dam against an inevitable storm.
Strength eludes me by several inches
I cannot endure against bitterness with indifference.
My face has been washed too many times
I have no more faces but my that of my own.

My stature is small—
A voice not quite strong or bold enough
To carry the waves of elongated sound
Over millions of people.
They would mutter nonsense that made sense
And turn the world against me.
Stars would fall like firebombs
To utter ruin when the aggressor
Meets the uneven, scattered ground.

“Ay, of course not” They say,
“You are a female, not a male
Our world is not of yours”

Yet in the world of women;
My talent for analyzing is feeble
And I have not yet grasp the finer details
Of table laces—
How does one judge another and still follow the same trend?
Help me understand this amusing paradox.
They still live in their beaten up cardboard houses
Through rain and snow.
As if it was their imaginary mansion
Dreamt up when they were girls.
Details—details mean so much
Like the status imbedded into their souls
Giving them pride when nothing else will.
No, I do not belong in the world of women,
I lack obedience to follow anyone thoroughly
Or toy with laws most suited for anyone but myself
Or grumble utter shallow nonsense
In order to have the most desirable qualities
Expected for a girl.

“ Ay, of course not” They say,
“You are child wandering away
from reality”

I ask the world of children,
Who created reality?
The adults, the children say, with their revolving headaches
And plights unseen yet as damaging as death.
It is they, the children say, who laid their torments on us
Who took away our fairytale dreams and innocence,
Who buried away our most treasured memories
In a void—darker than Hell.

Indeed I find the void dark
I live in it,
Breathe in it,
Adore it…
The dark is as intimidating as reality
As perceived through an adult.
Whose common sense towards danger turns to cowardice
Yet shines as heroism upon those more desperate for hope.
No, I do not belong in the world of children
For I recognize harsh reality
And though I dream,
And though I wish,
Willingly I allow the poison to taint them
Every rising sun.

“Ay” They say…
“You are an outcast”



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