If it was up to me
I still would not choose
Your version of individuality,
Society has nothing to do
With humane interaction.
Society is comprised
Of unsustainable priorities
That leave the barer empty.
Empty people need only apostrophes.
Glitter is favored to marrow
And when the lights have gone out
A thigh can serve as a torch
No matter how dead the eyes.
There is no space for a heart
When the ego is a colossus.
Perfection cannot be defined
By human standards
It is the greatest deceit
To convince an audience
That they are neither accurate
Nor original and that they
Must change if they are ever
To be realized.
To remain day after day
Broken just so, scalpels tearing
Scarlet rainbows from a heart
That castrates itself
Far more than a tenet ever could
In a room without witness
In a ritual of self hate.
What a grotesque buffet
What a cruel prayer to insist
Manufacturer’s error
When the intended use
Is so wholly disregarded.
What if I am the purpose?
What if I must exist
Poor symmetry and all
What if pain comes
From aversion to itself?
What if right and wrong
Are sometimes reversed
In moments of intense fear
When the world is viewed
From the palm
Of an obfuscating recoil?
I know who I am
Without being told
Without definition
I still exist
Everywhere I look
A mirror illumines.
The road is my map
The tongue my serpent
The hands can either be
Dungeon or platform
Depending on
Their orientation
And intent.
Would I rather be free?
Or would I rather be you?
A uninhabitable paradigm
An ideal buried
Within linen and flesh
A coffin snuffing out
The very source of life?
I’ll take my chances
Without a script.
mindlovemisery 