Rotten self 


I can’t remember how often I had this feeling…

I am an outsider. 

An alien, I believe.

I come from nothing :
I would like to believe that!
I have a weak nose,
Also a strong pressure,
My words are lost sometimes;

My voice can’t be heard
Among a cacophony  of nonsense.
My legs always refuse to  go forward,
A poppet with chopsticks and an active brain
I feel it again. I experienced it at 8, 12, 13, 19, 32, 38, 43 years old.
Outlier, never in, never part : different.
Little words, too much and my reason wanders.
From here to there, the right hemisphere is teasing the left.

I am lost between love and hate,
I am found between desire and repulsion.
I felt it in my dreams,
Bizarre, I don’t mind being different.
I am haunted with my young thoughts,
Those nightmares I have often fought.
I will feel it again, again and again.
“Outlier”, they said.
I am outlaw,  outcast, out of this world, “Outlier” they repeat.
I am enjoying it, the new way to define myself ,
This self too often forgotten,
This self reborn from a rotten past.
“Outlier” they hammered,  even if I have already agreed.
At 8, I felt sad!
I stop grieving and felt it proudly,
Beautifully, intensively, shamelessly.


2 thoughts on “Rotten self 

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