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literature
Outcast
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Literature Text
One head, two hands, two feet, two ears,
One heart, one brain, one mind,
I walk, I breathe, I’ve doubts and fears,
I am one of your kind.
Yet I feel like I don’t belong
In the grand scheme of things;
I want to know where I belong
So I can spread my wings.
I try to make my own voice heard
But it reaches deaf ears,
I dream to live free as a bird
But I’m drowning in tears.
I want to be warm and loving,
Humble, open, modest,
Traits so rare among the living;
It’s hard to be honest.
I know I'm not perfect,
I don’t pretend to be;
Why do I feel like a convict
In this world around me?
People had become so selfish
In their quest for rewards,
They are stinging like a catfish
In a race with no awards.
Is there anybody who cares
And willing to help me?
Will somebody show me the stairs
And help me find the key?
No, they only want to use me
As a tool for their goals.
After that they will just leave
And play their greedy roles.
They will go but I shall remain
To spend life as myself;
I won’t be anyone’s cocaine,
Or a jar on their shelf.
One day I shall set myself free
And not feel like a scum,
I will sail far over the sea
Where I’ll never feel numb.
Teutorix Maxen
April 27, 2016
One heart, one brain, one mind,
I walk, I breathe, I’ve doubts and fears,
I am one of your kind.
Yet I feel like I don’t belong
In the grand scheme of things;
I want to know where I belong
So I can spread my wings.
I try to make my own voice heard
But it reaches deaf ears,
I dream to live free as a bird
But I’m drowning in tears.
I want to be warm and loving,
Humble, open, modest,
Traits so rare among the living;
It’s hard to be honest.
I know I'm not perfect,
I don’t pretend to be;
Why do I feel like a convict
In this world around me?
People had become so selfish
In their quest for rewards,
They are stinging like a catfish
In a race with no awards.
Is there anybody who cares
And willing to help me?
Will somebody show me the stairs
And help me find the key?
No, they only want to use me
As a tool for their goals.
After that they will just leave
And play their greedy roles.
They will go but I shall remain
To spend life as myself;
I won’t be anyone’s cocaine,
Or a jar on their shelf.
One day I shall set myself free
And not feel like a scum,
I will sail far over the sea
Where I’ll never feel numb.
Teutorix Maxen
April 27, 2016
That moment you feel like you're just seen as a tool for someone else to reach their own goals and nothing more...
© 2016 - 2024 teutorix-maxen
Comments6
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I still am amazed each time I read this poem. It is a true piece of work!
In a way, we are all outcasts in some form. Me, I am an outcast (in a way) from my own generational youth. I don't understand alot of what they say and I honestly doubt I ever will. I understand the ways of old more. But I know I am accepted by those older than me because of my old-style.
In a way, we are all outcasts in some form. Me, I am an outcast (in a way) from my own generational youth. I don't understand alot of what they say and I honestly doubt I ever will. I understand the ways of old more. But I know I am accepted by those older than me because of my old-style.