the soul selects her own society. emily dickinson. 
i see hers as a society of rejects too. 
i see her as isolated, but free. 
hers was poetry. 
a society of poems, dispossessed 
possessions,
sent in envelopes, 
written on scraps, tied in ribbon and placed in a drawer, 
for the community of souls, 
of readers yet to come. 
the reject seeks it's own society. tent city. 
city of the dispossessed. creatures of periphery, in the center of everything. 
we're supposed to be like everybody else in the land of the free 
or we're not one of us. but the soul knows its own society.