Outcast

Born into this world I've been told there are two groups. Everyone must be an Argent or an Aurum. 

We are better, say the Aurem children.

No you stink say the Argent children. Argents are way better than Aurems.

The Aurems chase the Argents as a game.

Adults make the Aurems and the Argents compete in contests of the metals, to prove who is better.

The antiquated views of the elderly tell us Argents aren't suited for more than manual labor, and Aurems are only suited for analytic tasks.

They tell us that Argents should like to exercise and Aurems should like to solve puzzles

They tell us that Aurems can wear sleeved shirts but Argents must bare their arms. 

Born with silver colored skin, they tell me I am an Argent.

I accept it because that's all it means, it's just my skin color.

We all understand this, I think, so this label is fine by me.

We all understand that the castes Aurems and Argents played are not innate.

We all understand that there's no difference between us right?

The anti-scientific roles we took in the past are are all but a remnant of older generations.

As years go by, people come out and say they are in the wrong skin.

An Argent with the skin of an Aurem. How can this be? How can someone believe this insane thing?

The Argents and Aurems agree, ya they can't pretend their skin is a different color, they need to remember their place.

Their place? Are we not passed this? Can not an Aurem be strong and an Argent be good at puzzles?

Can not an Argent wear tattoos and an Aurem wear piercings? Why do people seem so angry at the idea that another wants to paint their skin to the color they believe they should be?

Why are the Aurems with fainter color so aggressively living the stereotypes of an Aurem?

But then I realized, they aren't acting. They aren't pretending. 

They believe they are Aurems just as the Argents that paint their skin do. 

Most can't fathom waking up as an Aurem or waking up as an Argent.

They truly feel it is part of them;

They feel something inside, the same thing inside as the painters.

I am the one that feels different.

I feel nothing. 

I feel nothing but anger when someone applies those labels to me to suggest what kind of person I am.

I feel nothing but hate at the concept itself.

I thought everyone felt like me, but that was delusion.

I am an outcast in a world full of people who strongly feel their metal.

Meanwhile I feel nothing but the external pressure to act how people want.

The external pressure to act how I don't want to act.

The overwhelming external pressure to not wear what I want and do what I want with my image and my body.

The suffocating mental anguish that I am trapped in a prison that is this body and that I can't be open about it.

The stabbing sensation of pressure to hide my trueself to the point that I don't know who or what I am.

The thoughts that when I die this pain will go away.

I can free myself from this.

But I cannot break my chains that way for then there will be no me to free.

I am nothing but an outcast, hiding in the shadows.

I am nothing but a coward, living on the path of least resistance for the appeasement of others.

What is happiness?

What is a metal?

Why can't I just be a person with my own personality?

Why can't I be normal?

Why am I pretending!

Why can't I just be me!