This is a poem about my feelings on 'individuality' as opposed to 'normal'.

This is a poem about my feelings on 'individuality' as opposed to 'normal'.

I believe that if there is enough abnormality in any enviroment, it will soon become the norm. Face it. We're all 'normal' in our own little ways. For everyone who has ever stated themselves to be 'weird', I've known about half a dozen others twice as 'weird' and they don't even know it. That, my friends, is true weirdness.

I mean, really. How can you NOT be different from everyone else? It's not that hard.


It's a Crime to be Normal


Says the Goth Girl,
pretending to be afraid of fingers
gluing plastic forks to her backpack
writing angst poetry on her knees

There are people at my school
They seem to run off an assembly line
They're perfect, plastic and pretty
And they hate me.

I'm not like them.

Says the Shadow Boy,
lurking, pale and dark-eyed
listening to classical music on his headphones
doodling death scenes on the pages of his notebook

There are people in the locker room
They spawn in the lockers
They're well-built, popular and cool
And they hate me.

I'm not like them.

Says the Clique Haters
The Drifters
The Nerds
The Self-Procclaimed Weirdos-

We're not like them.


But who knew, says the mirrors,
Who knew that the Barbie Doll Girl
Who turned up her nose at those
Geeks in the corner

Who knew that she had her own album
Of classical music hidden away
In the back of her drawer

Who knew! says the mirrors
That she still sometimes wears clothes
That would make a geek scream with laughter
She stares at her upside-down reflection
In her plastic handled Minnie Mouse spoon
When the others aren't looking.

And who knew, says the mirrors,
Who knew that Popular Jerk Guy
The one who laughed 'huk huk huk'
And did nothing but make obscene jokes
And flirt with girls

Who knew that his friend died yesterday
Who knew that he swore off drugs, even
When he said he took them everyday
Who knew!

Who knew, says the mirrors
That he thought Goth Girl was cool
But kept it to himself, along with
His zit cream and his novel-in-progress
His Pokemon action figures and his yo-yo
Buried under girly magazines and hideous self-wit
Waiting until the right moment
That never came
So he called her a freak instead.


It's a crime to be popular and pretty
It's a crime to act normal
It's a crime to be anything other than unique
It's a crime to be cool to people other than your
Closest friends

So don't try and cross over
Don't get stuck between two worlds

Don't be anything less than a sheep
Don't stray out of line
Those weirdos surrounding you are far in the majority
They'll mock your attempts at 'being strange'
It's like an Olympic game, dontcha know

Even though they've got their own crushes and bizarre sex jokes
They can never be the same as yours
Or, at least, you'll never know
'Cuz you'll never be friends with THEM.

Call them freaks and nerdy kids
They'll pretend to like it
And you, you will be the one made fun of
Behind your back

Because if you dare commit any of those crimes
They'll condemn you for being normal.


Obviously not every popular kid is like this. Some may be emptier than others. But there's usually a reason for that.

In my opinion, if you try to be a freak, don't get mad 'cuz they called you a freak. And it the attack is unprovoked, well, there's always a spark of darkness under the plastic. I find it hard to believe that most of you tried to peel it away in the first place.