Long story, short poem

They don't know what they’re talking about.
Who gave them any authority?
Why do you toss us out? Tease us when we pout?
Get over yourself won’t you?
Because we already have.
You and your opinions.
Too biased for the world today.
So please, take a hint.
Go away.


Ok so here’s the long story. The explanation that isn’t very poetic but what was in my mind that turned into a concentrated poem. [Mad is what they call you. The world i mean. The world condemns you because you are the way they made you. They call you crazy and say that you don’t understand. They hide behind the labels they give you. Because they don’t want to know, that they are the reason you are the way you are. Their carelessness, their rejection, their acts; are the cause of your depression. They call you crazy because they don’t want to admit, this is what they do to people. It’s subconscious, but it’s true. You are not crazy. It’s just a label; just a cover-up and it’s a scam. Don’t believe them, they are no better then you. They destroy people’s lives, call them insane by their grief, and then make them dig their own graves. If you are a bit different then what they call normal they ostracize you and accentuate your "abnormalities". They are no saner then you are. It’s sick, yet they call you the sick ones. You were created by them and they toss you out. You just want them to know that this is what they did to you. Humanity itself is the sick one. I am ashamed to say that i am part of this society whose byproducts are slumped to the side as if they aren’t as well part of humanity. We throw out the "bad" and expect everything to be good.]