Pariah

Outcast
pitiless
pariah
crawling on my knees,
beating my breast
moaning
" mea culpa."
The crowd would love that-
a spectacle.
( or if not love, tolerate.)
But no,
instead I'll climb
to the highest pinnacle
and cry,
Freedom!
Waving the flag
that is my poetry
proud,
defiant,
not loved
not even tolerated.

This poem is about: 
Me

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