I may always find those who think they know what is my duty better than myself
Quite easily, in fact,
For they live just down the hall.
My autocratic governors,
In my life they are enthralled.

They seek to mold me, shape me, watch me grow,
All while conforming to their to their standards.
But they don’t seem to get the gist
That in order for me to become a man,
I must first be a nonconformist.

Yet even as I begin to take form beneath their shadow,
They fail to see what I have become.
They know not not what self harm my hands have brought,
Nor what twisted images my mind hath wrought.
There is no great only misunderstood.

I bleed my heart, my mind, my soul at their feet,
In hopes that which is broken may be rectified.
Although they can see, their pride makes them blind.
Now, disobedience is the thin string by which I cling
To keep with me the sacred integrity of my own mind.