Be Loud, Be Odd, Be You

Part I — Be Loud

Be
loud.
*
Let your voice
echo
like thunder rolling
through hollow valleys.
*
The world
will try
to hush you,
to whisper chains
around your throat,
to turn your roar
into a cough
of apology.
*
Do not
apologise
for being heard.
*
Noise is life.
Noise is proof.
Silence is what
they sell
to keep you
small.
*
Speak.
Sing.
Scream.
Laugh too hard.
Cry too much.
Say your name
like a gospel
you wrote
yourself.
*

Part II — Be Odd

Be
odd.
*
Normal
is a cage
painted beige.
*
Odd
is freedom
wrapped in colour.
Odd
is the crooked smile
that makes people
uneasy—
because they wish
they had
the courage
to smile that way.
*
Stand sideways
while the crowd
marches straight.
Wear shoes
that don’t match.
Tell jokes
that don’t land.
Dance offbeat—
not because
you missed the rhythm
but because you
made your own.
*

Part III — Be Weird

Be
weird.
*
Weird
is the birthplace
of art.
*
Every canvas
smeared with stars,
every book
scribbled with madness,
every melody
that cracked the air open—
was made
by someone
called
weird.
*
They laugh
at your awkward hands,
your tangled thoughts,
your stumbling words.
But someday,
they will build museums
around the very shapes
you left behind.
*

Part IV — Ugly Truth

Ugly
is not
your skin.
Ugly
is not
your scars.
Ugly
is the rejection
of a lie
told by those
too blind
to see
their own flaws.
*
Ugly
is their mirror
shattering.
Ugly
is the mask
slipping.
Ugly
is the moment
they realise
you survived
without their approval.
*

Part V — Embrace the Quirk

Embrace
your inner
quirkiness,
friend.
*
Collect your
strange habits
like gemstones.
Line them up
on a shelf,
shine light on them,
watch them
glitter.
*
Drink tea
at midnight.
Name the pigeons
on your street.
Keep notes
of dreams
you can’t explain.
Talk to plants
and listen
when they answer.
*
You
are not broken.
You
are blooming
in a language
they forgot
how to read.
*

Part VI — Revolution of the Odd

One day,
the loud,
the odd,
the weird—
will gather.
*
Not in palaces,
but in messy rooms,
cafés at dusk,
corners of streets
where laughter leaks
through the cracks.
*
They will rise
with painted coats,
scribbled notebooks,
mismatched boots.
And the world
will tremble—
because difference
is a kind
of fire.
*
And when that fire
burns,
ashes become
gardens.