Being out of place is such a lonely state.

Feelings open emotions coupled by hate,

Desiring to be united, like one of the guys,

I develop fine stories adorned with many lies.

Accepted by laughter and the foolish one’s fruit,

Needing more than applause, I pretend to be a brute. 

My voice becomes boisterous as onlookers glare,

Knowing it’s just a ruse, daring with a mean stare.

Feeling out of place can be such an ecstatic way to stand.

Characters fictitiously birthed won’t obey all commands.

Sideways the neck would stay as others hover waiting,

Demanding for its chance to rule and start creating.

Many times darkness encompasses the one so lonely,

Changing the most tranquil gate into a portal for the unholy.