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The Black Sheep in a White Sheep Society
Society hates her; it’s as simple as that. They think she should fit in and be one with society, but what’s that point of fitting in and being what everyone else wants her to be? Till the rhythm of her heart stops beating, she’ll stay exotic. “Let’s be outcasts for a day; let’s have fun while young and rebellious,” she says. Society can’t change her looks or personality; only she can change herself as she sees best.
As she walks down the school hallway wearing deep blood red skinny jeans and a faded black vintage Iron Maiden shirt, they give her rude, heartless looks to show her their disapproval of what she wears and what she is. With her auburn red hair put back in two small piggy-tails, she wears her favorite bright lime green and black and white checkered shoes, which “don’t even match” her outspoken outfit. Each day she wears something different, something no one else would be caught dead in, and she wears something that fits her personality and style the best. Over the past, she has been, and will stay, the meaning of different. Wait, what’s this? If her outfits weren’t already bad enough, she has a new hair color? From the beginning of her freshmen year with bright neon hot pink hair to her ending of her freshman year with dark brown and vibrant purple in the back with a dull blonde for her bangs, she changes her hair every two months.
“She’s crazy,” they all say about her, but she knows better. She’s stronger than society, and she can be herself. Within a new school year, she still stands as the black sheep among a flock of white sheep, and once again, she has a new color of hair: red, yellow, blue, purple, black, blonde, white, and brown! Her hair just never stops changing though her personality stays the same. Different color, different style, different length. She views herself as her own being; she likes it, being the outcast, not fitting in with the popular and the all the cliques. She sees no harm being done by transcending society’s codes and rules on “fitting in.”
She often wonders, ‘Why don’t people understand my point of view? So what if I stand out and became someone I want to be. It’s not like I’m going to change to make this horrid world accept me. How about looking at my view point, then tell me what’s up.’ They aren’t her, and she isn’t them! They don’t need to judge someone just to fit in. “Society is stupid,” she says to everyone who criticizes her choices as a simple person.
They often tell her, “Why won’t you just dress up nice for a day with a dress maybe or at least look not so different. You stand out too much. If you put effort into looking like us, you would be judged so often.”
As they give her nasty looks for being different, she thinks to herself, ‘Yeah, I got it going on. So what if you judge me. You don’t have your own personality; you just fit in with everyone else in this god-forsaken world. Stare at me with your nasty, almost cold-killing looks. I could care less. I really do not care about anything you say about me anymore.” When they speak wrongly about her, sometimes it does upset her. Their negative words do have an impact. However, with every word spoken about her difference, it makes her want to be different even more. As long as she finds peace and enjoyment out of being the black sheep, she finds that her will and passion to be different allows her.
This girl I speak of hates society exactly like I do because we are the same person and will forever never be one of the “in” people or be part of the popular groups. It irritates me when “the populars” want to play “Let’s be different for a day of fun” and they mimic creating their own style and image, but they get the compliments by their friends: “That looks soooo cute!” My luck, they’ll soon make what’s not popular, popular. Either way, I’ll dress how I feel, not how they think I should. I’ll continue to walk down the high school hallway, listening to the snide snickers about my outfit or my hair, but I will hold my head up high, knowing that I am my own person, and no one can affect me.
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