Perfect Misfits.

​We were perfect misfits, 

my pieces and I.

We chose not to align 

in a way the world wanted us to.

Rebelling against the world

we were amorphous 

taking no shape whatsoever, 

no conformity.

The rebellion however 

was an ongoing battle on two fronts.

One on the inside, 

one I fought with the pieces of me 

and one we fought together 

standing side by side.

I was always in conflict with my pieces, 

We somehow always, always agreed to disagree, 

It made me angry because I was fighting a war constantly to be free and here I was 

wanting to control myself. 

I kept forgetting that the point of this war 

with the outside world, was a war 

for the aftermath and freedom to just be.

And here I was fighting with myself 

not letting myself simply be, what I wanted to be

I kept forgetting these pieces 

were what I was in the end, 

how could I expect them to be any different?

They were simply pieces of a bigger renegade 

They were pieces of me.



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