It is always the Outcasts who change the world
the ones scorned early on
in school, or family
by the opposite sex
the beautiful
or the super-talented
by massive systems
who count them, us
as useless
by the ruthless
the rich
the strong
the hidden psychopaths
the institutions
all say
you are nothing:
fat,
or ugly
or poor
or crazy
or dangerous
unsmart
wants you to go away.
Some cut themselves
drink to much
rail, flail helplessly
strike out blindly
huddle
in dark corners
in the back
in the booth
blot out
Life, Unbearable.
But some of us don't believe it
nourish that glimmer
which states
perhaps it is not me
perhaps it is them
and the world
they have created
a world which
if truly superior
to me
would not treat me
the way they treat
me.
Then two of us communicated
then four
16,32, hundreds, thousands
and the chorus rang out
'It is not us'
and the fear receded just enough
for us to speak of it
speak of the unspeakable
those defined as losers
realized they are the majority
the righteous
the wronged
the human beings
in a sea of predators
the just
and the only ones
who could grasp
the reins of true freedom
from the greedy
the grasping
the complacent
the mirror-logged
the paralyzed
the too fearful
the suppressors
of the many.
The Outcasts
realized that to live
fully
they had to change
the world
by showing up
by protesting
by casting off Shame
by not accepting rules
which made them feel bad
about themselves
by envisioning
a better world.
Outcasts
are the only ones
who can change the world.
And they can do it
the same way Jesus did.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem