by Deborah Breuer

I’ve always been of the opinion that, while change in one’s self is inevitable, there are qualities, truths, about us that are “hard-wired.” I talk to my students about labels, these adjectives and immediate assumptions we place on people, even before judgement (although, labels tend to inspire the judgment that transpires, post haste).
It seems so innocent a word, “Weird.” Innocent enough for parents to stand idly by, while their children use “Weird” (this “Harmless” little adjective), for anything new or different (a long list when we are children). Even as we grow into greater, wiser beings, even in all our depth of adult understanding, and even in the great power that comes with learning through life experience, the word “weird”, causes no hesitation. And while I’m here to tell only a solitary perspective, you may find that this unassuming vocabulary taken on by youth and every step after, is in Truth, the first brick thrown in a glass house.
“Weird” was my identifier. It was my most overt personality quirk long before I knew what an identifier was and long before I knew how much I wished it were just that simple.
“Crazy” was reserved for a different scope of society (If the mass would consider these souls part of “society” at all, and certainly never a small child.), but a little girl is only “weird,” as it were. On the play grounds. On the street where I lived. In school. “Weird.”
There are only a few hardwired truths about all people on this plane. Among them is the simple idea that people will always fear, what they don’t understand.
And we’ve all heard it. I find it makes people deny the truth about themselves as they agree that it’s ABSOLUTELY true about most people… but not them.
It seemed many lifetimes over between hearing the truth of our kind, then watching the fear out in the world. A time later, noticing that I was the subsequent object to be feared, as I was, also, the “misunderstood”. Finally, over the years, I forced myself to discover the sword swallowing revelations buried in this truth, so that I could march as a Soldier of Life, as I do today.
And we may always fear what we don’t know. Perhaps, it’s not for us to unravel true fearlessness. Perhaps it is. I march on in search of the Truth.
It is my chosen path, and I choose it every day.
And while “Weird,” may not shake the leaves of the Tree of Life, it is where my path started. Long before I even knew what it was to be a Soldier of Life. Long before I could explain an “Identifier.” And long before I could hold my head up high and own it. My path was always greeted with “Weird.” I suppose that leaves me a bit grateful for my “weird” label. It trained me early on, bloody knuckled, bruised, and tearless, but ready for war.


Posted on 09/22/2018
Copyright © 2019 Deborah Breuer

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Rob Littler on 09/23/18 at 09:56 AM

...still, the question is am I being weird or appearing weird? Only after I started "being" did I stop asking.

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