The Beautiful Misfits Brigade

We come without capital. We come without cool. We come without cleanly defined parameters of where the one thing becomes another but we know that we are here, or are we? Sometimes we get confused. We come with rhetoric and shout, but with whispered poetry, sometimes. We come all of us, and by all rights we should not get along.

This is why we are beautiful. This is why we are misfits. Our fit, it has, it missed, it has. Our fit is missed and we miss having a fit. Some of us never really did, have a fit that is. Some of us have had far too many, and the miss is more or less intentional now, missing the fit that is. In any case, we are miss matched, patchwork people, straw and bubblegum, duct-tape people. Different people with the same haircut, and different haircuts on the same people, and some of us haven't got much hair at all. And still, we come.

We come bringing only what will fit in our prosthetic-robotic-post-hydroponic lunch-pales that we got in grade 3. We come with our tales, long and fluffy, short and sleek, they are our tails, tales, trails. Oh, we do get confused. We are a thrift store tie-rack. We are here because we don't have anywhere else, and it is in our nature to find the place where everybody don't belong.

We come with ourselves and one at a time (or sometimes all at once) we explain what that means. We stand (or we sit on the floor [or a chair]) and we tell ourselves who we are. Or rather, we tell one another who we are. Or rather, one of us tells the rest of us who one of us is. But then, I just said the same thing thrice, didn't I?

In our telling of our being we become a bit more. In our listening to our being we connect, if only for a moment to the fit that was (ostensibly) missed. We find our fit and we fit with the other unfitted folk. And, this is why we are beautiful. It is the beauty of a kaleidoscope, of a leaf pile, of a lost-and-found bin.

We shouldn't fit. And we don't. We all don't. That's why we came. That's why we're beautiful.