Forlorn are the ones
Who wanted to be different
Only to stand apart
So that they were ushered in
More closely.
Not left to find their own way.
Only different to be attractive.
Only different to be a safe novelty.
One that catches the eye,
But is bought all the same.
Not left on the shelf as
Just too raw…too bizarre…maybe broken…maybe just too wrong.
it lies there listless.
Realizing it wanted the very same things…
But just
From someone who could understand.
is it easier or harder
to want what everyone else wants?
what we are smiled upon for wanting?
what we are supported and celebrated for wanting?
or is it harder to want what no one else thinks you should want?
what you will be lectured about, advised about, discouraged and guilted about?
is it easier to try your best to conform and worry how you fall short?
Or is it easier to strike your own path and bear the cold shoulders and disapproving glares?
this whispers, the dead silences, the piteous, the nervous and ingenuine smiles?
when does it become easier to do your thing?
when does it become easier to do what you want?
when does it become easier to achieve what seems to come so easy to others?
when does it become enough?
when does it become easier?
you wonder at how jagged i am
after breaking me into so many pieces
shattering me so painstakingly
and hoping your dried up glue attempts
will ever put me back together as i once was
mourning at how displaced we are
how different things now are
blind to the hammer you wield
blind to the disaster you reek
only wanting what you
and now only you alone seek
sometimes
having reached
a foolish zenith
reason surpasses
the enduring calls of
past words
all that is subjected to difference
seems thinly veiled as the last
all disguising the one truth
with no more than a
used epiphany
intotheindigo 