No Apologies for the Odd

Fletcher fumbles forecasts, flips his fate,

Wears winter coats in June, shows up late.

Sketches dreams on diner napkin stacks,

Quotes philosophers with bubblegum facts.

He’s wired wide, a walking surprise,

Wanders through structure with unscripted eyes.

Says, “I wasn’t built for balance or bland—

I bloom better where the rules disband.”

No apologies for the odd,

For the zigzag stride or the self-made nod.

Own your errors, wear your flair—

There’s strength in standing unaware.

If you clash, if you tilt, if you redraw the map—

That’s the mark of soul, not a social trap.

Clara clips coupons for clothes she won’t wear,

Frames bad poems like high-end fare.

She holds long talks with a silent screen,

And counts prime numbers just to stay serene.

She’s offbeat, but never off-track,

Builds meaning from moments others call lack.

Some see strange; she sees style—

A life that dares to stretch the mile.

Say what doesn’t sit quite right,

Dress like dreams, dodge black-and-white.

There’s art in the awkward, grace in the glitch—

Every scratch a switch to flip the pitch.

No apologies for the odd,

For the unboxed mind or the quiet prod.

Speak in spirals, write with flare—

The rigid roads were never fair.

If you crack, if you bend, if you don’t quite fit—

You still light fires where the fakers quit.

They’ll call it quirky to keep it contained.

They’ll brand what they can’t box, and act unchained.

But don’t dull the hue just to match the glass,

Your contrast is what makes brilliance last.

Normal is numbers; real is rare.

Odd is a compass. Follow it there.

No apologies for the odd,

This pulse, this tilt, this lightning rod.

Let others iron their identity flat—

You’re the wrinkle that’s worth looking at.

So bear your bold, make peace with your weird—

You’re not here to be cleared. You’re here to be cheered.

Be the question. Be the spark.

Be the page that leaves a mark.