I never knew
That the level others stand
Dictated how I should do
To be passed off as just another brand
Is it norm to say
That your world is wrong until you can accept mine
But where is the shame
That can’t we stand out and shine
Without our individualism dictating that we are degenerate and should be tamed
And all that’s left is time
Spent writing our script
When many aren’t even the authors
But the illustrators with fate as their survival kit
Spent appeasing the worlds of others
The truth is the maintenance of it all being so competitive
And it springs forth repetitive
With no purpose for this rhetoric
When told to author the book of my own life I find I’m illiterate
Maybe i can get a handicap pass and say I’m dyslexic