A Belief.

Here’s a pro-tip friends: You never need to tell weird kids that they’re weird.

We know it. Always, always, we know it.

No one has ever pointed to me and said “Yes! That girl! She is the paragon of Normal! She will get a job as a secretary and have 2.3 children!” (Which is fine, because “normal”, just like virginity and gender, are social constructs. Please try again.)

I know I’ve never been anyone’s idea of average, and I freaking own that. I fly my freak flag with pride, because I earned it.

That being said, there are some things that are easier than others. “You’re weird”, yes. fine. Of course. That’s one that’s tattooed onto my heart.

“What is wrong with you?”

That’s a bit different.

Sometimes that one doesn’t come from a place meaning to hurt. Sometimes it’s good-hearted, well-meaning people.

“Have you ever thought of getting scanned for this? My friend has it, and it causes hormone imbalance.”

“Have you ever gotten checked for this disorder? You sound like you experience symptoms of it.”

There’s another phrase, that most weird kids know. It’s not as happy as “Yep! I’m a weirdo!

There’s nothing wrong with me.

 

There’s nothing wrong with me.

 

It’s fragile, it’s bitter and it’s sharp. It’s a weapon held close. It’s razor wire fencing around the heart. It’s all of the things that people fight to believe:

I am good. I am worth knowing. I can function in society. I can give back.

There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me.

It’s carved into palms by fingernails because fists don’t help. It’s tracked in tears because it’s not a belief that can be forced onto others.

It’s this delicate, breakable thing that is absolutely required for the life on the edges; as a drifter colony bum.

Strange kids don’t have the approval of the group, so we have to approve of ourselves. It’s hard, but it’s good.

Weird kids have steel in their smiles. It covers up the teeth we’ve broken as we bite into the hardest parts of life.

We shine brightest in the dark, but we earned that too.

The hardest thing about this one though, is that “There’s nothing wrong with me” is that it casts a shadow.

It’s dark and quiet and soft, and it slips into the cracks and it whispers “Are you sure?” “How do you know?”

 

And that’s what makes it belief.

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