the outsider

Outside

[by link]

“You are your only friend, you are your only enemy.”--The Mahabharata

outside it is cold
my skin boils

why you don’t like me
is my superiority
my inferiority

you ignore me
because I’m smarter

stronger

richer

my cock is bigger

that’s right

smaller

poorer

weaker

woman’ve always hated me

never really invited into the fold
of guys either

invite myself along

but they just laugh and go

rejected by the screeching tires of society

casually uninvited

room after room of people paired up gabbing and laughing without me without exception,

I enter, I leave

the bar, the club, the church, the coffee house

making’em uncomfortable by molting away

intimidated by reptile eyes

“Shut your neck!!!!!!” yelling at one of them on the corner smiling, leaking joy, sporting the unmolested cleavage of their hard-parted hair, spotless faces, perfectly symmetrical ears, isosceles noses, inviting eyes, flirting eyes, tensiled brows, lovely…

a slave to their acceptance

slowly cutting me out of their lives

the outcasts are the first to tap the keg of revolted by me, with their tattoos, fucking staple gun accidents, dread locks, faux-hawks, fuck spikes, dye jobs
they clump together like lard in a spittoon.
obeying disobedience

weird is the new old

too busy being fucked up to look weird your way son

to take in your everyday Halloween

your overcompensation

too dead to live anyother way than this

wearing what a stranger gave me and what’s dirty next to the bed

me, the only normal person left in the world

haunting green parks

having taught my follower that a rose is at the center of galaxies and cells and atoms--the same rose.

taught him that greed & gravity were just a special kind of glue.

he left me too

invented lust bright & early, me and the stars, because freedom is the only possibility of anonymity & amnesia

I, hero to solitude, emperor of the forgotten, wrote this so you would move your lips when you read, I wrote this because you hate poetry.

my poetry, I fucking hate it too

not decent enough

straight-laced and raping you with my eyes

isolation from you

nicer than you

crying more than you

harder than you

smelling like the sickness of mind

woven with shirt tails tucked in only in the ass

bathing every now and then

madness that began with religion

bad writing lobotomizing me

ending me

all the way back to death

again

ever since

you started ignoring me
being sickened by me
fucking dismissing me like silence

a

zero outside the circle

emptiness set amongst the possibility of things

your ridicule is high praise

your disapproval is dignity

the plaything because I make you feel strong

incomprehensible because you cannot understand

reviled like a fool and a mad god

I’ve been to lectures of the great Steven Weinberg attended by a handful of fools
and over heard the street corner drunk soap boxing in the cold

and they both claimed computers will cause a nuclear war

and were ignored

and you rejected me for not being good enough or for being too great

you are what you are, and I am what I am

but at least I’m not mediocre

at least I’m rejected

because…

all I’ve got going
for me
really
is
that
people think I’m shit
too