Seeds of the Mind

You know, there are moments in life when you just look at something that has happened and are disgusted by it. These moments happen far too often. It changes our view on life, and we become bitter for it. But sometimes, rarely, there's a person who sees the brighter side, who rejects the social norms and has a better life for it. They strive for what they want, good or bad, and they never take no for an answer. It's these people, full of life, enthusiasm, hope, and dreams, that end up changing the world.
 
As I lay here, the insomniac I am, I feel a sense of second sight. Of seeing flashes of what others see me as. I am strange. I am quiet, yet loud. Nary a sound comes from my lips, lest it be a rebellious shout of something against my moral standing. I speak what I see is true, and am shunned for it. To some, I am the devil's child, for not believing. To others, I am who they wish they could be, but would never sacrifice their social standing to be. I am a girl without need of a mate, for I rely on no one. But I am also the girl who learned emotions as I hid in the shadows.
 
I am a shadow. I reached out with dark tendrils and grasped a being in the light. I asked. It answered. I trusted. It betrayed. Though light may need dark to exist, the two are trapped in a cycle of destroying each other and taking the others spot. The light answered my questions, but I took its space, so it bit back.
 
I am alone in this world.
 
I was not born with emotions. I was a blank slate. I watched. I observed. Even now, I watch, and learn. The fleeting times of joy, love, companionship, I feel, are stolen. Moments too brief, too uncommon, to take root as true. Instead, I feel an automated response. A bitter tone to commune displeasure. Displeasure imitated to convey denial. Denial to say no. Because in this world, you can not simply say no.
 
The only thing I truly feel as if it is a true emotion, one I have experienced too often with varying intensity, is fear. Fear of this odd social ladder. Fear of the unbidden hostile stances. Fear of antagonism. Separation. Singularity. Fear. 
 
Judged and judged... It is a wonder I'm not mad... Though perhaps I am. 
 
"How does that make you feel?"
 
Feel? Feel?
 
She lashes out with words at me for wearing black and long sleeves. But it's cold to me, for I'm not good at retaining heat.
 
Fear.
 
My skin is pale, paler than a ghost's. But I hate sunburn. It... burns. They mock, they lash.
 
Fear.
 
The guidance office. A social stigma even I understand. I do not fear it. But they see me. I'm marked.
 
Fear.
 
I sit at home, gathering knowledge from pages. They whisper their secrets to me, and I eagerly listen. Their words are drowned out by mocking laughter, as cruel eyes judge me from the light.
 
Fear.
 
I try to be normal. I do nothing not acceptable. I watch the clock tick away every second I waste sitting here, being accepted by those not like me.
 
Fear.
 
But time passes. Years it took to learn fear, and years it will take to learn something else. This feeling for those in the light. Those that laugh, and mock, and taunt.
 
Anger.
 
Fear is a great oak, reaching miles into the sky and hiding horrible beasts within its shadows. Anger is but a sapling, taking nourishment from the rich soil fear has kept others from growing on.
But in the shade between the two is a sproutling. It reaches for the light it is so unfairly denied, but stays strong in the unfertile, dry, shady soil. Fear has let the beasts tear at it. Anger has whipped it with vines. Scarred, small, and injured, it strives on, knowing. It smiles at anger sadly, caressing roots with gifts of well being. It waves at fear and the beasts it harbors, granting comfort. As much as it is harmed, it is also loved. Fear tries to kill it, for that is fear's nature. Anger harms it, for anger lashes out at everything. But it is loved by them, for it is forgiving and mindful.
 
It is hope.
This poem is about: 
Me

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