You can’t make me be who I’m not
I will rebel from your demands
I can’t go along with your manipulation
I’ll chew it up and spit it back in your face
Please don’t force me
You’re setting me up to fail… again

please understand my
behaviour as a sign of
rejection

no one no
one no one
no no one

is entitled to judge
me

really: no one

(except my family and
god feel me)

I adore you…

Your will undeniable,

Your word unbreakable,

Your strength undefeatable,

I never stood a chance.



You’re the all brave, all mighty,

omnipotent, omniscient,

The giver of life, the righteous,

And I must follow you, obey  you

Follow your footsteps, or be punished,



But I was disobedient,

a curdled flesh

unworthy of my creator,

A disgrace in his presence.

…



“Bless me, father, for I have sinned.”

(Your mighty fists resound inside my head.)

“Forgive me for defying you.”

(Your glorious feats like whippings I can’t bear.)

“Save me from this darkness, my savior.”

(Your word a storm outside my world.)

“And mold me in your spirit.”

(I hated you.)

“Amen.”

…

I am a follower of your girdled path through goodness,

A witness of your immortal rule.

If metal music racket and a straight jacket
can clog the corporations cogs,
then unemployable bleach blond anarchists turning white coats into black cloaks
is when  tattoos and pierced ears
become a parents worst fears.

We walk with untucked shirts and short skirts, wearing  a students mask
I hide a whiskey flask
in a blue blazer pocket  
knowing  dam well they can't stop it
if I walk with a lit cigarette in the parking lot past a parent, it's inherent that since they can't beat us anymore we won't join them.

But I'm not scared.

Because their clone army won't harm me.
Just like the microwave rays the crazies raved on about in the good old days
when disco was king and Justin didn't sing,
back when ADHD wasn't real,
and depression was just no big deal.


So call me a student psychopath armed with a devilish laugh as i bounce round a rubber room in a tin foil hat
refusing to be the systems lab rat.
So they call me a rebel as I lay back in revel watching the rabbit hole unfold
as a thousand sheep break the mold
that the man made when red writing atop a page became how we wage a child's worth.



So the sheep that march through the flames
immerge adorning robes of rebellion,
as the sounds of so many chains severed symphonies through the generation
marking many young minds escaping the confines society's shoved down indoctrinated throats.

A reflection is shadow made of light.
I look at myself. “Who you trying to fight?“

You know he’s crooked cause his head is cocked.
It’s rebellion.
His past is in flames, he’s a hellion.
That’s why he don’t hear what they be tellin him.
He hears his own music.
He let’s it in, he grooves it.
It flows through his body when he moves it.
You can always be happy if you choose it.
Listen to the dope beats
and keep a couple close to your throne seat.
It’s emotion in wave form. There is no rawer art
or rarer reward. For if you truly listen
changes will start in the you-est you.

I was shocked too but I swear, it’s true.
All sorts of things will change you, if you let them.