I was never the one to fall in line
Never belonged to the status quo rhyme.
Found that friends turned on you
when you thought everything was fine,
The cold shoulder is an old friend of mine.
Ah memories of those fond times,
where the young pretended to be older
and their treatment a deserving crime.
But a forgetful youth, if I must say
age means little in this world’s play
For the horrors seen; cruelty in the youth
Apathy in the old is nothing new.
Old you are, for a children’s game
Old you are to play this way.
Self-righteousness will rule your land this day.
But I was born free, sick as can be
worshipping outside the lines
of a petty, grouped society.
Perception, dearies, is what I mean
your reflection is my face you secretly fear.
But who am I?
A jester in the court of perceived queens.
Words losing meaning with each petulant gleam.
A dog you place on your bottom steps
so you look down from your pedestal, your head a mess.
As he said, it’s a fine looking high horse
throw yourself up like your god does.
Allow yourself to forget what it was like
to have neck pain all of your life.
Self-service has a pill for that, from what I read.
To rid you of a consciousness you once had
No sadder loss of your humanity
than to cling to self-righteous stupidity.
Of a perceived slight you have no validity.
Against another who puts up no fight.
A child born of this universe
I have a scarred back
a pagan basking in the riot act.
A sinful creature with confessions on skin
Marked by previous sinners who won’t claim their sin.
Command me, do your best,
slight my will in the name if yourself.
And condemn my kind to make yourself feel kind.
Just remember I was born free; I won’t be the last of me.
My whisper will be the echo you hear in the quiet.
Your sin will be in my smile.