The Brutality of Not Belonging

The brutality of not belonging

Leaves marks on a heart like a brand.

When someone finds themselves placed

Among strangers they’ve known all their lives-

And yet.

 

They aren’t one of them.

 

And the collective involved look at the One

And say,

 

Why are you?!

 

And the One looks at the rest and says,

 

I don’t know. Why are you?

 

And the Ones go through life Not One of Them �"

 

And the One learn to quieten themselves

To be less then They (the Ones) are, and more like Them,

Because the brutality of not belonging causes such pain

That the pain of self-denial is less.

 

The Ones learn to fold up all the beautiful, special things that make them

So beautiful and special themselves-

Into origami stars and hide them away in a jar,

And they (the Ones) sit at a table surround by Them, and they listen to all of the

Things �" the beautiful, special things �" that make them, the Ones,

 

Wrong.

 

And when it is over, the Ones walk away,

A little bit smaller, and little bit paler,

And they look at the world full of Them and they say,

 

I’m not special.  I’m not worthy, I’m no one at all. 

 

 It’s better to be no one, then one of The Ones,

Because no one is no one, and can’t not belong.

 

And what everyone fails to realize is-

At the end of the day, in the dark of the night,

We all have a jar of origami stars, folded up tight

So that no one will know that we are one of The Ones,

And not one of Them.

 

But imagine the beauty of the night sky,

If we all took our secreted jars full of stars

And dashed them on the pavement,

And let the heavens shine with each of us.

 

            As one of the Ones.

 

The beauty of Not Belonging outshines its brutality.

 

            There is no Them.

 

            That’s the lie.

 

Tell the truth.  Break your jar.