Organized Chaos
The World Belongs to The Freaks
Words with no meaning in between meaningful sentences. A question mark followed by an exclamation point; always looking for answers, but constantly unsure of the questions to ask.
A blank canvas, a full spectrum of colors, endless possibilities. You can go left or right, but does the direction even matter if you don’t know where you’re going? Maybe focus on speed. Getting somewhere slowly instead of getting nowhere fast. Just maybe.
It’s an endless paradox, generally disliking yourself but absolutely loving who you are. Being lazy yet so ambitious it overwhelms you. Constantly dreaming of the future, but somehow still attached to parts of the past that make you feel vulnerable.
Meticulously organized but always craving chaos. Needing attention but rejecting it when it comes your way… after all, who said you need anyone’s help? Or anyone at all. No one got you like you got yourself… right? Top-to-bottom-filled with conflicted contradictions, turned into a self-proclaimed walking enigma, with the only certainty being that if you haven’t figured yourself out yet, there’s no way anyone else has either.
They say everyone has a freaky side but the real question is: do the freaks also have an ordinary side? A better question: what is the point of being ordinary? The world belongs to the freaks; these versatile creatures who brim with raw energy and never judge, just observe. Who are driven by the mystery and awe of feelings beyond comprehension, much more beautiful than anything humans can possibly understand. Who grow from within because they know the world is too simple to understand, less support or comfort, such complex souls. Half blade, half silk; heavy but fragile, pleasing but painful. Rare.
You realize pretty quickly that being that spiritually tangled, so mentally intricate, with the ability to feel everything and everyone around you so deeply, is both a blessing and a curse. True freaks rarely see it as a curse.
You have to fit in to realize you don’t really fit in — the endless paradox. Curiously enough, that same paradox is what gives the code to the vault: it’s not about fitting in, but being so malleable, you can adapt to everything and everyone. Essentially, an extraordinary form of shape-shifting, infinite metamorphosis. Quite a powerful feeling; a sweet, thrilling epiphany, to realize you don’t need to fit in anywhere if you can fit in everywhere. A blessing, a curse, a paradoxical relief.
I used to believe that vulnerability was a sign of weakness before I learned that it is actually the most precious vehicle for growth. I used to avoid the dark corners of my mind, scared I would feel blinded by them, but now I create extra space just so I can throw myself in their depths. The world belongs to the freaks — so delicate yet so deadly, and the more I realize I’m a misfit, the more alive I feel.
