The Inmates

From this moldy pulpit,
I preach to you all,
We’re all inmates remember?
Of this world on the edge,
Of a social construction of normality,
Rickety and ill-maintained,

But I posit another way,
We take over this asylum of a world,
We as freaks are the future,
We’re an army of little weirdos,
Weapons of paintbrushes and lyrics,
Brothers and sisters in straitjackets,

We laugh loud and proud,
We listen to what we want,
We wear what finery we wish,
Anarchy in our identities and pronouns,
We may be eerily strange,
But we are more joyful than you can imagine,

We are our own culture,
The inmates,
Eccentricity is our standard and battle cry,
So let’s be the madness we embody,
Don your clown makeup,
Stand up and be yourself,

The world shan’t know what hit it,
And we’ll keep giggling.

Misfits

Who needs society?
Who needs normalcy?
We are not sheep,
No woolen coats here,
We are greater sapients,

Let’s be misfits,

Wear clown makeup and bright shades,
Dance unrestrained in paint,
Sing your favourite song off-key,
Whichever madness makes your little soul breath,
Live for yourself,

Live as a misfit,

Give mundanity an aneurysm,
Make that cruel pulse flat,
Let it die off,
Our souls wish to be unconfined,
They wish to dance among stars and zephyrs,

Become a misfit.

Flocks

I am not a jealous soul,
But I stare green-eyed at birds,
Those avian aviators,
Artists of the blue,
I envy them their wings,
I write you true,

Soaring the skies,
It must be such release,
Such catharsis,
They are not bound to one another,
Why do they stay in throngs?
Are they not individuals?

Do they not know they are free?
My envy screams up at them,
Predation should be no deterrent,
When the flock flies west,
Why not fly east?
Don’t waste those wings,

Coveting their feathery prom dresses,
I call out to them,
Please take me away,
Imitating their freedom,
I reach skyward,
Yet they flee in flocks.

Monopoly

I’ve seen the elite,
A cartel of tuxedo players,
Vultures around a board held aloft by we the people,
They play monopoly above us,
Playing for borders and lives,
Among red buttons and whiskey,

An oligarchy of a smoking room,
Perfume of toxic fumes,
Product of industry,
A effluvium of poor mens moans,
Sounds of pickaxes and canaries,
Walls of blood diamonds,

The pieces are made of flesh,
Shaped like batons and warmachines,
And cry for help as they shift,
Beholden to old men,
Liars in chief,
Tycoons of trepidation,

They have played this boardgame for centuries,
From pyramids to railways,
From aeroplanes to the moon,
We have been pawns for too long,
What happens if we all stand up?
And knock their game over.

That Old Ensign

I see the flag,
That old ensign,
But I do not serve it,
A flag is mere fabric,
A textile icon of the past,

Preach not to me,
Of patriotism and servitude,
Of loyalty and treason,
Of fealty and monarchs,
I shall not heed you,

I am not my birthplace,
I am not your history,
I am not your hate,
Your bigotry or your intolerance,
I am not the empire,

I’m a human,
Not a nation,
I’m not here to entertain you,
Not going to fight for you,
I march to only one drum and flag,

That of the human heart,
That of humanity.

Monachopsis

I’m a misfit,
I’m socially awkward,
Do you know how I can tell?
It’s not the facepaint,
Nor the inability to smile normally,
It’s a certain intangible strain,

A subtle yet leaden weight,
Upon my soul,
A sense of monachopsis,
The burden of not belonging,
I’m in a person suit,
The public are not my tribe,

I lumber through hostile streets,
As if waistdeep through syrup,
Incomparably out of place,
A slovenly ghoul,
A shade of grey,
Passing through hued crowds,

I long to return home,
Domestic safety,
A raft away from the societal sharks,
I can be fluidly myself,
A rainbow within,
Dancing with my thoughts,

Please don’t make me go outside,
I don’t belong there.

My Table

Hey you,
You look glum,
A fellow oddity,
Has the world worn you down?
To a dirty sheen?
A cynical attempt to reduce you to normality,

People look down on you too,
You’re just like me,
A rancid freak,
A lunatic,
A weirdo,
A total loser,

What do you think it is?
Do you dress differently?
Is your countenance vividly chaotic?
All hair dyes and mascara,
Do they call you queer?
Do they throw their slings and arrows?

Come have a drink with me,
Let’s drink to disorder,
To individuality,
To our quirks,
To our life choices,
To ourselves,

You’re welcome at my table,
Our very own haven,
For all of us freaks,
Lets drink.

Eccentric

A friend once told me,
I may be eccentric,
A conflux of wasted potential,
A lunatic,
I’ll never get far this way,

I beg to differ,
I simply walk a wildly different path,
While your path holds domestic bliss and career goals,
Mine holds glamorous noise and dancing clowns,
A cane in my hand and a top hat atop,

You live your grey life,
Chastise me if you will,
I’ll still be jaunting,
I’ll still be grinning,
The crisp earth will welcome us both all the same.

Apostate

I am an apostate.

I’m a heretic,
I’m unprejudiced,
I’m open-minded,
I’m a freethinker,
I’m a heathen,
I’m singular,
I’m an individual.

These things make me dangerous.
These things make me an apostate.

The Hymn of the Inmates

Ladies and Gentlemen,
Brothers and Sisters,
Good priests and bad priests of all orders,
Allies,
Rivals,
Lovers,
I beseech you,
Hear my words!

Lords and Duchess’,
Madmen and Madwomen of all conditions,
Scum,
Thieves,
Murderers,
Churls and Misfits,
Hear me now!

The world is an asylum,
Our asylum,
We are the inmates,
We are the individuals,
We are the freaks,
We are the aberrations,
We are the monsters,
We are the inmates.

Join me in a celebration,
Rejoice in your own individuality,
Embrace your eccentricity,
Love your peculiarity,
Dance in the rain,
Paint with your fingers,
Laugh madly in public,
Do as you please.

We are the inmates,
Singular and deranged,
Odd and frivolous,
We are ourselves,
We are the twisted family,
Embrace the asylum,
And join us.