It's a rule, so it's right, right?
No, it's a rule, doesn't mean it's right.
If it's a rule, it could be a wrong,
I wonder for how long,
Some rules are wrong,
If it's a rule, it might be good,
Do rules mean what they should?
It's a rule, so it's right, right?
No, if it's a rule, doesn't mean it's right.

Tonight's the night I take a chance,
A risk greater than the high school dance,
But dare I try, after this stanza
I'll stop firing my rhyming phaser,

I've always been one for lesser liberties,
Not unlike your favourite celebrities,
Such as the right to whistle my merry song,
On those warm summer days that drag out too lon-
No not that! Why can't I seem to break,
That longing for order, could my values be fake?

I'm a rebel, not a conformist of society,
I'm one for a cider not a hot cup of tea,
Notice that I'm getting better all the time,
Those lines only made up a half rhyme,

I'll force myself to ruin this pattern that I'm in,
Perhaps a subtle cuss will do: "Friggin'!",
That didn't seem to work I guess this is a sham,
Perhaps its inevitable that all poetry should rhyme...

Wait a second...

the howto
             is a mighty force
             it tells us
                with authority
             how to
             best navigate the world
             appropriate to the occasion
            
             from love to cars to finances
             it guides us
                to the proper steps
            
             and yet
             it somehow fails
             to say  
             why
                if we follow the directions
             we feel like children
             rather than adults
            
             why
                when all wisdom
                has been eagerly applied
             we still don't know
     why
                 our hands and feet
                 are tied

(Inspired by
a lifelong stranger)

These chronicles slinked from her chassis
– the mythomaniac;
she sold every copy.
Stories only fabulists could ink,
sealed within her schticks.
She enthralled every reader;
her cossets: spellbinding.
The husk of an angel
masked
THE Pariah within.
Caped in pretense,
lidded,
she skulked.
The blossoming killer…
Come
Hither.

And yet.

Your web of lies was spun so thick
It's you,
up there,
Ensnared.
You wrote the rules, cunstructed the game, invited the whole world to play.
But in the end
it was YOU
who
lost.
❤️

You carelessly walk across the Abby Road
With your hands in your pockets
And your eyes all closed.

Because in your world you make the rules
You don't think you have to check
If there's a car comming at you.

Luckily for you there's no car this time,
but if you keep on like this
You'll end up dying because of your own little lie.

Because it's not you who makes the rules
It's the society, your parents and the state, who made them
Just to keep control of you.

But then again, they too are blinded by their own little lies
If they think you'll bow down
and gladly follow the rules, which they decide.