Community of Misfit Toys


There, the memories

Will always rush to my head

With the bitter stab of nostalgia:

Screaming, barefoot, through a hippie church

In the starry black sky of the early morning.

Piano blasting, rising isolated spirits.

The community that may hit your vulnerability hardest,

And bring you to heart-gripping tears,

But pledge to stay with you

Through the endless hours of torture

Until you feel safe again.


But here,

I look at the people around me

And want so badly to help them--

What is the point of life

Without a misfit community

To wrap you in its arms, and

Abolish your strife?


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