My Collection of Weirdo’s

I have a hobby of sorts,

To collect the strangest of cohorts,

Those that fall between

The cracks in the serene

And provide an elixir for the droll.

Wearing trauma as a badge,

Openly half mad,

Scarred and scared,

Bad and good, good and bad.

Outsiders,

Survivors,

Fighters,

Quitters,

Addicts,

Vixens,

Victims,

Bullies,

Bullied,

Exposing,

Exposed:

This is my collection of weirdos.

Each piece is unique,

Individual, tarnished and boutique.

No manufactured, peroxided plastic,

Or conveyor belt symptomatics.

Antique treasures hidden

Under the rest,

Bottom of the pile.

Allow them to beguile.

Their bruises sparkle like Popping candy for the soul.

Come and behold!

My shelf of damaged wholes,

Those who refused to fit the mould,

But instead turned stories of ash

Into pure gold.

Here you’ll find the greatest tales to be told.

Roll up!

Marvel at my troupe of weirdos,

An array of frayed heroes;

The best I have known.

My clarion call to home.