Improvise

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.