The Land of Nobody.

The land of nobody.

We are the rejected ones,
the people you see in everyday life.
The ones that wear black clothes,
wear midnight dark sunglasses.
Walking alone,
eating alone,
and waiting alone.

We are the misfits,
the mistakes of man.
We are the "Others",
a group of people who nobody cares about.
We are a group that has no voice in the government,
because we know nobody will listen.

So we left.
We left on boats and sailed threw the Pacific Ocean,
to find an island that we can call home.

The trip was long,
but our pain was longer.
The pain of having no voice,
we talked. Yes,
but nobody listen.
Our voice is like a novel,
hundreds and hundreds of words, sentences, paragraphs,
but nobody cared enough to read it.

We set up our new country after a month of sailing,
we hunted beasts for food,
fished,
gathered,
build,
and slept in our land.
The land of nobody.

We created schools,
hospitals,
farms,
and governmental building.
What we didn't create,
prison.

Prison was our old land,
no rights,
no love,
no voice.
We were in prison by our thoughts and by our government.
All because we were misfits.

We lived off the land,
we worked through any weather,
heat waves and tsunami.
A lot of our people did die,
but they died for our land.
They died with a voice heard by everyone,
they died and was never forgotten.

We came to the island as misfits,
but we died as kings.