Conformity is not my norm,
I’ve no desire to fit in.
Societal expectations
are not my thing.
I try to understand
the hunger for acceptance
I see so many
willingly sacrificing
themselves upon alters
of false pretenses to obtain,
but the reasons I seek
elude me.
Shall I slit my own wrists
and allow my essence
to drain, pooling into
the festering puddle
of a fictitious existence?
Shall I don a mask
which doesn’t quite fit
to blend in with the faceless
crowds blindly following
an unseen leader?
A reclusive ghost, this non-existent
circus master serves as shepherd
to a lost flock, leading them
to slaughter with delusive promises,
empty platitudes and hollow hopes.
They follow without question,
shedding their individuality
like clothing too tattered to wear.
A fools parade,
I cannot follow.

Crystal R.Cook