Too many are quick to reach for the numbing pills of societal conform,
to comforting others with the elixir of  norm,
when those who are living are dancing in storms,
war torn, dying, and reborn,
forever sworn, oath of dusk and supplication of dawn,
unceasingly misfit until the final horn.

And thus you mourn, wail and mourn,
breath of heaven at the wake of morn,
can’t sew this fabric from 1948 worn
forlorn, unborn, bereft and torn,
Trying to be a rose, alas, instead, societies thorn.


We’re not meant to fit.
Not all of us,
I always knew this,
but I was never sad about it.
I was always content and happy.
In fact, being a Misfit, is not as derogatory as society wants to believe, I’m redefining the word, as has Lidia who I’ve stumbled across in the last couple of days and am impressed by.

Have a watch and listen, there’s nuggets in there.

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