Out of Order

Out of place, out of touch, out of this world.
That is what I know myself to be, a general misfit.
A different can of worms every other day,
you never know what you’re gonna get.
It’s like playing Russian roulette,
you never know when the gun is gonna go off.

An array of sunshine, an array of colors,
an array of disorder,
they for sure don’t make them like me anymore.
A being that refuses to be put in a box by a world that is inept.
I’ll Blow your mind sky high at every turn,
this will either exhaust you or inspire you,
these are your only true options.

Is it ever a struggle you wonder,
once before, never now,
for this world of perfection is run by misfits.
Imperfect beings who continue to believe in their madness.
I own my insanity for it gives me character.
I love my active state of out of order.

For this is who I am.


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