I’ve never really fit into any group that well. Maybe that’s part unhealed trauma, part innate oddness, and part superpower.
My seat has always been with the misfits. That’s where I belong. With the loners and the rebels, the broken and awkward and divergent ones. With the people who couldn’t fit the box if they tried.
That’s where I find inspiration, in the eyes of silent warriors who never gave up. That’s where I find beauty, in the faces of people who are brave enough to just be who they are. That’s where I find purpose, in the hearts of those looking for a safe place to turn. That’s where I feel the safest, among those who are different like me.
That’s where I am home, among those who came together incidentally but find a way to fit together perfectly.
The people who disappear into the back of the room and the ones who stick out like a sore thumb. The ones whose minds are like Alice’s wonderland, and whose hearts are like vast gardens inside a Rubik’s Cube.
The people who are too complicated, or too simple, too real, or too honest for the world to understand, those are the ones that I end up calling friends.
I’ll never sit at the cool kids’ table, and I don’t want to. Sitting under a tree with the outcasts and odd ones is right where I belong.
~ Cristen Writes