We outsiders have our mold
the cage designed to hold us in
respectability defined to coerce
the differences felt inside
this is the start of the end
when our kin seeks to restrict
presentation made to the masses
that cares little for the least.

'Please fit the mold' became the chant
don't stray outside the lines
of being different, but only so
lest the norms take up arms
they hold the power from above
a careful truce has been arranged
diplomacy at the knife's sharp edge
at the cost of freedom's reign.

But we're lost, free ranging souls
blocked by fences made to console
those not of the flock who then seek
the life discovered when we're free
forbidden is never a consequence
when the chains are cast to the ground
then horizons may be sought
beyond templates of order's rules.

There is more, the realms are vast
perfection was never sought
instead it's there to balm the rest
those above divergent ones
acceptance comes at a great cost
towing lines applied to bind
I'll ask those who hold the ropes
forgive the rabble, remove our molds.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180108.