Rigid lines drawn all around.
Constraining and fixed they define.
Rigid lines between which we’re found.
Inevitably forming what is mine.
But is it mine? To what extent?
Can I separate me from my moulding?
Do I walk the line, with my intent?
Or am I simply a vessel holding.
The sum of cultural normalities.
Which subjugate personalities.
A production line of banalities.
Singularising the pluralities.
If this were true, we’d all be one.
Homogenous identical population.
If this were true, with diversity gone.
We’d all face cultural starvation.
These values, views, norms and rules.
Which govern our contemporary life.
Are rationalised by unknowing fools.
Unaware these conceptions cause strife.
And yet it seems nature will win through.
Resurgent with counter-oppression.
For underneath, where you, are you.
Lies dormant the need for expression.
Normality is wholly subjective.
Dependent on the scene.
For some the norms will be connective.
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