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.