It's disconcerting, isn't it?
That even amongst misfits you do not fit in.
You don't like it, the fact that you don't fit in,
And you hate even more, the fact that you don't like it.
How does one go about being normal?
How does one go about not caring about being normal?
Time and again, I have told you,
All I have are questions.
I have no answers, no knowledge,
Nothing to guide me,
I am as lost as you.
A deer caught in headlights,
(And all other hackneyed expressions)
I grow weary of these clichés,
these phrases, these extravagant words of expression.
But they would not be called so if they had not been proven to be true,
At a time when I was not yet born,
Long before the thoughts of my conception were formed.
And I have never known how to find my voice,
Never known how to sing my songs,
Without feeling like,
Even in a band of misfits,
I wouldn't fit in.
©May
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