The Nail That Sticks Out

A yellow submarine navigating a river of purple rain.

A neon billboard screaming over an open grave.

A dandelion rupturing the prestige of the golf green.

A black rainbow hanging in a blue sky.

Different.

A word used to describe the outcasts.

A label taped across the uncurbed mouths.

A weight dragging down the free spirits.

A lacquer poured over the unpolished misfits.

Different.

Walkers of true darkness that never long for the light.

Debbie Downers and Gloomy Guses who refuse to curate a false plastic smile.

Rebel punks who do not conform to society’s uniformity.

All of the ones who dare to be —

Different.

Maybe —

— The difference is, that there is no difference at all, between you and I, me, we, us and them.

— I should bury myself in blankets and cry.

— This is just a place where individual difference is praised and encouraged, as long as it’s of the majority.

— I should tie myself to a rock.

— The difference is, we know what’s staring back at us in the mirror, even though we may look away, we know it’s still there, waiting for us on the other side, not pretending that it isn’t.

— I should scream until the blood pours from behind my teeth and floods your lungs.

— We are just reflections of what others do not wish to see in themselves.

So —

With every strike —

— I bend.

And yes,

I may break,

But it will never be under the leaden weight of you.

And when the swinging arms tire,

Tire of trying to push down whatever they’ve been trying so hard to hide,

Working for so long to never allow it all to fall,

Caught under the spotlight of the night.

What a shame it would be,

For someone to find their truth,

The lighting set up just right,

Only casting shadows from their good side.

But, I —

— I do not matter to you.

— As you’re still holding the bloody-headed hammer.

— I am insignificant.

— A speck of excrement in a never-ending descent of shit. 

So —

Tell me, please —

— Why do you allow me so much free space in your life?

— Does someone have a little bit of a skat fetish?

“Zibby-zap bop-bop ri-ki-tik-toot. Shoo-be-doo da-dat klap-pow!”

Wait a second.

That’s not right.

Okay,

I see it now.

Oops.

Here we go…

So —

Tell me, please —

— Does someone have a little bit of a scat fetish?

I am the stool?

Sat upon by some ass,

Painting your portrait in the dark because here I am,

The fool,

Stirring the same can of rot,

Letting you rent a room in my skull for nothing.

Just look at me —

— Spitting lines at a shadow.

— Giving you the very gravity I claim you lack.

— Disgusting.

Would you like to take another swing?

I’m all straightened back out again.

You cannot stand me being above you,

No matter how many times I drive myself off a cliff,

So,

You hammer me down.

Or —

— At least you try.

So —

— Go ahead.

— Swing to and fro.

Let all the hammers fucking fall.