Rotten apples

Gretchen: You're weird.

Donnie: Sorry...

Getchen: No, that was a compliment.      (Donnie Darko)

Every family has its black sheep. A weirdo, misfit, outcast. Usually it is somebody who finds it very difficult to interact with people, who does not comply with standards generally approved by society and does not even want to, somebody who lives in his own world, somebody who... is one of a kind. 

But who is weird and who is normal? I think everybody is weird, in their own way. But some people's normality outruns their weirdness. And it strikes me that some weirdness is more creative, more inspiring, more artistic. Some weirdos see things normal people will never see, colours the others could never even imagine, write words that aren't to be found in any dictionary. No poet, writer, painter, inventor, revolutionary, philosopher has ever been normal. If they were, they could have never become what they had become.

They are all different. There is one common feature though: they have always been misunderstood. Depressed of not belonging anywhere. Depressed of being lonely. Of being alone. In a crowd, but still alone. Rotten apples among beautiful, perfect, polished, red apples. 

But the process of decaying is inevitable in this world. It is a development, an evolution. What else can you do, but to rot? Hide behind a beautiful disguise? 

Rotten apple

Like a glass of water can never be a Moet

A tedious one will never be a poet.

Chewing gum cigar brings no satisfaction

With no initiative there comes no reaction.

Dust is no dirt but a cosmic compost

Poem’s a reflection of spirit composed.

Philosophy is art for us to imitate

And silence is the noise to appreciate.

Confined inside this human comedia

Speechlessly overwhelmed with invidia

For those blessed with ecstatic ignorance

Whilst you wallow in the age of innocence.

At a party that’s never met the host

People are company you hate the most

You’re nothing but a lone steppenwolf

And life’s a riddle never to be solved.

If only they could see through your eyes

If only they could read between the lines.

They not ever will and tears you wipe

To pity an apple that’s never been ripe.

As every soaked pillow finally dries

A rotten apple eventually liquefies.

Like a twig put together by each sliver

Turns into a drop that shapes the river.