As outcasts, we roamed the streets with watery eyes with the ground and muddied hands. We clutched at our chests as if we had to keep in every ounce of air for fear it would run out. Our heads were messy with abandonment, contemplating how to keep a hold of every fibre of social contact we could find and didn’t feel satisfied when we did. We told ourselves it was okay to be alone when birds were growing inside our arteries and threatening to break free as we clutched at our belongings trying to feel we belonged when people stared and wondered what made us look so alone. As outcasts we laughed when someone made a joke, went along with criticisms and tore up paper skin because someone had noticed us but not the way we wanted but it was better than sitting in the dusty corner of the library and being completely invisible. No matter what level of rules you broke no one cared, no one turned towards you. As outcasts we fed on attention like a wild dog tearing into thick tendons shoving down all it could for worry that it may be it’s last meal. As outcasts we made sure others were okay, we were gentle, we sat at the front and laughed over work with the teachers and avoided answering questions aloud. We did everything by the book, but couldn’t cover our eye bags with named brands. As outcasts, we stuffed our feelings into the bags we bought everywhere just to feel a little more secure and shut them out of our heads, when our minds were spinning we would open our hearts and let someone pour into it just to sew it back up and move out again once the deed was done. As outcasts we were lonely, one day alone was the world ending and the air leaving and the paper ripping because it would happen again. We would be alone again.