The Ballad of the Inner Rebel

I can’t say that I feel any different.

Somewhere standing in a corner,

visually ostracized from conversations,

but somehow more intuned,

better seeing around the room,

hearing conversations I have been told 

to stay out of, I am still here.

Kicked to the curb has always been some sort of haven

in a world that always seemed to hate me.

I have always gotten away with more stuck in the background.

Only a select few can see me, but

this only gave me the ability to see them more,

to do so fully, just as they see me.

I can’t say that I feel any different. 

The way that I live,

in the shadows,

in the hushed bustle of the night

when everyone is whispering when I enter the room,

the eye rolls,

I’m still here, no less than you are here, but I am here,

just hidden, just reserved, just protected, all the same smiling, still talking. 

I am still me, even if you don’t know who I am.

I’m here.

Nice to see that you’ve found me in the shadows,

and made this your home too.

I am sorry if it takes a minute to open up to you,

I have been told that I tend to open up too much,

to let people in too close,

to not leave enough time to properly secure my defenses

as oncoming wars approach and breach my safety.

I can’t say that I feel any different,

it’s something that haunts me, but

I’m still here, and here with you for as long as you’ll stay.