by Joe O’Hearn
The fringes welcome loners
our mumblings churn out works of art
crafted in seclusion, where no one ever recites them.
Being laughed at reaches
my heart stretched to my ankles, my mind recoils
I didn’t make myself yet here I am.
It stands to reason
fitting in is required, my thoughts simply trampled
shelter me like an estuary for the wave-makers.
Revealing my closely held wounds
those perpetually roaring deep within
stay poised, only to recite keep it simple stupid.
Displaced with the familiar nodding frowns
devoted to an image or even a mirage
tip the scales, a ruling that favors the few.
Their stately stares corrupt a universe of
ideas, as pollen is crushed by a wheel
tearing at each floral petal whispering loves-me-not.
Incipient favors spread in spite of drab disdain,
out of character once again, I’m roasting in despair.
I’m sorry; I didn’t design it as you would.
I make my peace in a moment’s notice,
a few in the think-box peak over the horizon
ready to pounce on one more for their troupe
when my solitary giggle incites an undisputed scowl.
Artist: Joe O’Hearn
Bio: Born and raised on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. I had the opportunity to observe countless actions and behaviors in rural life. Being the last of eleven, I endured many interactions.
Piece Description: My poem is for those of us who just don’t fit in.