Misfits

Little black box
Big black walls
Little snow people
And a ceiling with no stars

(nothingness)

Screaming in silence
Fists pounding against an invisible wall
A glass through which nothing is seen
And suffocating air, blackening out lungs

(darkness)

Creatures right outside, half seen, half heard
Laughing, jeering from behind thin masks
At fools they'll forget in the morning, if they recall us tonight
It's gossip to them, and all stories fade

(we don't matter)

They don't care
They won't help
Too absorbed
In bettering themselves

(they do, though)

I am still here
Searching for you as you search for me
Yelling our names out to ears forced deaf
Begging to be seen when we're both going blind

(we matter)

Clawing at grounds as little somethings end up uprooted
Little wereling boy and little wereling girl
Fools going mad
Being squeezed out of our sheltered young skins

(don't we)

Eyes gouged out
Ears cut away
Mouths taped over
Minds gone numb

(we're losing)

It's over. Might as well write it
On the walls of this gas chamber
Or scrawl it with our fingertips
Into the poisoned soil

(I'm. . . )

I finally see you then
(lost for words)
Hollowed out dead boy as the rain comes
(why not me?)
Red, searing and saving me
(why not you)
As it takes you away,
like a man made of dust





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OliviaR. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 2, 2011 at 11:03 am
This article touches me in a way taht i cannot even describe... I mean, there are articles about pain, and not fitting in, and feeling like you are trapped, but this surpasses them all. I love how, in parentheses, you are kind of forming a whole new perspective on everything being said. It almost makes teh overall message more powerful.
 
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