I never even considered it to be okay to look silly or do things in a strange way or show up different. Maybe that's why I've always held a longing to do so. I liked being called weird even though I didn't truly own it. Or maybe that was just my inner justification for being an outcast. They knew I was broken, that's why they rejected me. That's why my best friend broke our friendship with no clear explanation at the end of seventh grade, right before we went into high school. Once accepted by the popular kids, I was then shunned and felt I only belonged with the other losers, the other broken people.
I want to break through my broken, to push out of this cage of defeat, to claim these pieces as beautiful and display them on a platform lifted by grace and painted with the feathers of my tattered wings. I want to bare the insides of my ribs, turning my chest inside out to breathe backwards and feel safe in the knowledge that my feet touch the soil that nourishes my present with the death of my past. And my tongue sings the truth of my spirit shining through the desolation of this lie of separation to take root in the wisdom of this heartbeat, sounding a rhythm only I can dance to.