The outsider secrets

Everybody talks about ‘the insider secrets’.
What they mean is, the secrets of a certain group of people.
Nothing insider about that. They’re just comfortable in their cliques.

But what about the outsider secrets?
The inner workings of an outsider…..looking inward.

I stand on the outskirts of belonging,
Looking in,
That aching,
Do you know what it feels like?
Longing,
To fit in?
Around and around I spin,
Looking for a gate,
Into the whirlwind,
Of conformist fitting,
Beanbag cushioning,
Wanting,
To be in your surrounding,
To be amongst the music,
But I can’t sing.
My guitar has no strings,
My flute, only sorrow brings.
But I have heart,
Maybe I can play those strings,
Ironically, born with a prolapse,
But on it keeps drumming.
Even when doctors told me,
No more fighting,
You’re risking,
Your life,
Stop training,
Stop exciting,
Stop racing,
The very thing,
That keeps me living,
Imagine that, my solace,
Is my undoing.
Eventually,
I returned to writing,
Poetic exfoliating,
Detoxifying musings,
Soul scrubbing,
Heart shining,
Sometimes, shitty prattlings.
But I give you my offering,
Here on the altar,
Slaughtering,
Everything.
Society was never welcoming,
But because I tasted your bitterness,
I won’t reciprocate,
I’ll instead be,
A streaming,
Gushing,
Flowing,
Spring.
You’re all welcome,
To my inner stirrings,
My spirit dwellings,
Slow sips please…..
I don’t want you choking,
I can’t handle drying,
Not ready for dying.
This is what I bring,
My offering,
My everything,
My effacing,
These are my secrets,
They are your secrets,
All you have to do,
Is come out from hiding,
Stop pretending,
It’s not ever an insider thing,
It’s always just,
Human beings,
Looking,
In.

W.E.