When they praise your appearance,
shave your hair off.
When they envy your life,
lie,
tell them you’re suffering so they stop looking at you with eyes that scold.
When they admire your body,
cover up, they’re meat eaters, carnivorous and lame.
When they tell you that you’re so smart,
leave all the institutions that let them think that made you,
and continue your journey of learning until your dying days,
independently or with men and women that matter,
then watch them call you crazy about every new thing you teach them.
At that point recluse,
this world is not for you.
When they call you a loner,
take pride, introvert more,
and find it in you to have mercy on them.
When they paint you as dangerous,
forge your body into such an array of dangerous weapons,
they fear your very presence in the room,
let your breath heave tremors down their spine.
But in all that time,
in all those years,
when they cannot stand the sight of their own reflection,
when they will clutch at any pill,
to keep them from the pain of dealing with themselves,
when they are numb to themselves,
welcome them to your world,
and remind them they have a self.
Remind them that you cut yours down all those years ago,
and that is why you’re still in one piece.
Why all that looking up or down at you,
was the best thing that happened to you.
But keep your head shaved,
even if after it all,
you find your lot of peace,
keep your head shaved so they never look at you the wrong way again.
Hair is so overrated,
knowledge isn’t summed so well until your last breath,
appearances are forgotten memories of the maggots,
that chew at your morsels in your grave,
wisdom never visits the vain and arrogant,
poise, never comes to the fingertips,
of those who luxe in the superficial,
and your poetry,
your magnum opus,
your ode to joy,
your Carmina Burana,
is your ability to elixir,
every last drop of truth,
from the nucleus of your seed.
Take to the grater,
take to the juicer,
take to peeling back every lie you ever told yourself,
and stop pretending,
don’t wash with the foam of society,
to whatever it is they tell you, you are,
then watch them all wait for you at the shore of hope,
that you once again look their way.
W.E.
put some headphones on and go for a walk to this:
lonerloaner 