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JMG Oct 2010
Conformity kills your self-expression
It only leads to deep depression
Conformity grows and never ends
True things that exist are labeled as trends
Inside the system, the machine presses on
Conformity kills as I recite this poem
Conformity kills all the human opinions
Everyone wants to be too much alike
Conformity releases millions of minions
All of us suffer as we lose the fight
Can't we just stop and try to be different
Ending this crap is so far out of sight
Conformity kills
Drains
Steals
All the clothes from off our back
CONFORMITY KILLS KILLS KILLS KILLS
JG and Ben, 2002
MALodramatic May 2014
Conformity, conformity, conformity...
Consumed by society.
Breaking under your hands
******* with the same old bands.

Becoming the curves and corners
The support group have become mourners.
When I look in the mirror, I see who I am.
But society wants me to be a different woman.

You don't always have to follow the trend.
Don't press enter, don't send.
Conformity,conformity, conformity...
Consumed by society.
Poetry sesh in drama today. :)
Tyson Mar 2015
I'm not crying cause I need to be strong
My eyes are too tired
My hope's I'm not wrong
You're here right beside me
A mile away
Closer than most
I'm happy you've stayed
Conformity's blinding.
Conformity's wrong.
Conformity's lying.
Conformity's calm.
I'll take the first step
Just give me a sign
Don't run from me, friend
Don't fall back in line.
We're in this together
We've done it all wrong
Here's to something greater;
Our need all along.
Jane Feb 2013
conformity
Is the Way
that Threats are removed
no Differences
no Surprises
no Other Way
no Better Way
no Competition
conformity
gets rid
of Threats
like
Creativity
like
Spontaneity
like
Diversity
don't be individual
when you can
conform
Your changing your behavior
Your changing your style
Your changing your beliefs
Just so they can match his
You call it love but it's for from it

If he loved you for you
Then you wouldn't feel
The need to change,
You'd be comfortable
In your own skin.

Conformity isn't love don't let them fool not even once.
Not a poem just an outbursts of thoughts on why conformity doesn't equal love.
Fuji Bear Jun 2014
Humans are by nature
unappeasable  no matter their behavior.
As a conformist
We threaten outsiders,
Yet long to be our own person.
And individuality is no better,
We long for acceptance of
The group we once called home.
That is the nature of humans,
We viscously treat
those that are not like us.
Its no wonder so few are happy
with such constant inner confliction.
Because the human mind is
a kingdom ruled by two fears,
Fear of the unknown,
And Fear of rejection.
Hayleigh Nov 2014
I refuse to follow a trail where everyone else has
Crushed their individuality
firmly into the ground,
Silenced their hopes and dreams
so they no longer make a sound.

You do what you please,
but darling I'll blaze a trial so bright
it'll dull the suns light
And bring the trees to their knees.
Alex Douillet Feb 2010
I wont be censored and I cant be stopped,
I'll be air brushed out and photoshopped.

Forgotten.

There's an energy in this youth,
Kids with blue and red hair,
The world is up for grabs,
but I wont see it,
I wont be there.

If the revolution came tonight would anybody care.
Kushtrim Thaqi Jan 2015
I heard a shout,
and then one more.

I heard a shout and then one more
and those who were blind
stopped, and turned towards the voice.

I heard a shout,
and then one more.

I heard a shout and then one more
and those who were blind-
afraid, picked their sticks and stones.

I heard a shout,
and then one more.

I heard a shout and then one more
and the blinded ones were throwing sticks
towards the voice, throwing stones.

I heard a shout,
and then one more.

I heard a shout and then one more
and when I came close to opening my eyes,
the voice died; Silence, finally, no more noise.
Dr O Aug 2014
The lonely boy rejects propaganda
Scouring around with blood red eyes
Nobody spares him a glance
Nobody looks past conformity
He opens his mouth to speak
But nothing can be heard
Nobody bothers for his words
Nobody cares beyond conformity
He sits in his bedroom with his father's revolver
Nobody extends him a hand
Nobody grants him a soul
They label him
They say he rejected conformity
They say he should have asked for help

The masked man rejects propaganda
Scouring around with blood red eyes
But only beneath a blood red mask
Alone in an isolated world
Slowly cleaning his wounds with ether
Because as painful it is to reject propaganda
To reject conformity
At least the ether will guide him through it
Out of conformity
And into the darkness
Jazmin Huey May 2014
Laughter and degradation

Put-downs and humiliation

So you don't like me

Why must you hurt me?

You see the way I dress

You think I'm such a mess

You fear me so much

That you keep me out of touch

And you put me in my place

And you sit back and laugh in my face

You go through such tribulation

To protect your stupid reputation

Refusing to accept the unaccepted

Refusing to acknowledge the dejected

Such a slave to conformity

Such a slave to uniformity

Follow a few; step on many

Go out with the crowd in hopes that any

Weirdos who show up happen to be weak

So you can pound and beat that freak

You might not even hurt him much

But you will still tell such

Unbelievable lies; such incredible myths

So that you and your clique can resound with

Laughter and degradation

Put-downs and humiliation
Evynne Jun 2013
I see the ground impending at this very moment and I don't know what to do
What am I more than skin and bones waiting to rupture and explode through?
Sometimes my skin is the only part of me that feels
And music seems like a moral law
Just relax, take control, breathe
We're all volcanoes waiting to burst and we're bleeding into an ocean of uncertainties and a permanent life
What is there to do?
If we don't have our dreams, our passion, we have nothing
Nothing
We have to aspire to embrace all world views and perspectives, move beyond, and become open-minded
Kiss the stars and awaken to a new vision which is blinding at first
But our eyes will adjust
And we'll see the world, as it really is, for the first time
You're enough, we're all enough
We've always been enough
Our simple task is to enlighten the world
And look to the stars for guidance

Is it human to want to leave everything?
To go somewhere far, far away
Somewhere way up in the clouds
Humans scare me
I'm trapped in my own thoughts
They're so loud
But I'll hold your hand, we can go together
I could really use some guidance
Just look up kid
We're both beneath the same sky
We can do this

Remember, we all stumble and hesitate
Every one of us
We stagger
That's why it is such a comfort to go holding hands
We all turn out fine
One way or another
You are invincible
Oh, I forgot to tell you how beautiful you are

So where do you live?
Mostly in my head... What do I even ponder upon in the dead of the night?
We're magical
As anyone can see
Our words are soft
Sweetly combined
No one understands
It's so incomprehensible and uninterpretable
But it's so intriguing... My thoughts are so mixed up
I think so much it's unhealthy
If I could think out loud
My voice would be a never ending soundtrack
I would never stop talking
There's so much
I'm so confined
I am so little
We're all sustained to conformity
We need out of our minds
If someone asked me what I think about when I hear the word "eternity" or "endlessly" or anything... I wouldn't be able to give them a straight answer
I think too much and everything would become too elaborate
No one understands
Conformity will **** us all

My fears climb up my spine like spiders
Who can show me that I have nothing to fear?
God can? That's what I'm told...
Almost like he had it planned
But it's all planned, Evynne
Even what I am saying right now was all planned out
We just don't know
I think that's it
I don't know
I never knew
That
Scares me
I wish I could break free and know and learn
And never possess the ability to say "I don't know" ever again
I hate not knowing
This really shouldn't be that unusual to me, not knowing
But it is
It all is
We're all too young and too susceptible
We'll drown in our thoughts and feelings and emotions
We're stuck in a pool of conformity with no drain

Conformity is an interesting thing to me
Because if our generation is all about being different and doing what you love...
Well how is that even possible?
And if everyone is trying to be different, aren't we all the same?
It's so much to think about
I never stop
We each build up our own world of difference and uniqueness and magic
I walk down the street and see twenty of the same people
It comforts some to think they're different but know that they're the same as the person next to them
But only the brave strangers are the ones that stand out in the crowd of differences
And I admire these people
Because not only does it take a **** load of strength and integrity to do this
But also a purpose
And no one has a purpose these days
These rare human beings have simply decided to set themselves free
Jump into the wind
And create something new
They've got it

I'm blinded by these heroes and thieves at my doorstep
I can't seem to tell them apart anymore
These words make me feel okay though
They say words are the most powerful drug to mankind
Watch for beauty
And look at who shines
Be clever
We'll figure it out
Andrew Ove Aug 2014
Why, oh why, must we want to die? Oh how a child can see nothing in the sky but clouds of dark foreshadowing something ominous growing in his mind. A brainstorm is brewing, one that is anything but kind. How the world sees this child is anything but "normal," they don't see a human, they see something dull. He only wants freedom for his soul, with a little bit of truth to make him feel whole. One day, this child shall see past all the words of the unkind herds that flock towards him to mock and imitate like mocking birds. He'll realize truth within and set his worries free as he finds hope in his heart and realizes he is more than just me.

-n.g.
A mechanized millennium
studded
with silver rivets hammered from
the once glorious dreams of the populace
They are now all identical.
cylindrical
instruments that pierce the flesh of progress
conformity:
the price paid to advance across the toll bridge
that is "the betterment of society"


But bland and boring can hardly be better
than stark and standoffish rants of individual pipe dreams
They took those too-
the pipe dreams are now piping in the plumbing that runs beneath the streets
we walk all over them.
only half realizing they exist and not half caring
anymore
with spirits that lack luster our
low lackluster dreams are dying
igc May 2015
I saw the best minds of my generation congested and
polluted overdosing on irrelevance

Abandoned abused replaced
Fed to the thought police
Corrected corrupted
Declining the potential to be heard in
exchange for the opportunity to be documented

Lives being lived according to unfeasible standards
You either make it or you don’t
there’s no in between
there’s no maybe
there’s no equal

Left to meander through the conceived thoughts of others
decisions being made
moves being made
eulogies being made

nothings real
nothing’s right
nothing’s honest
nothing thought up matters


Who in the safety of their homes were taught respect
are told to mask their emotions
Identities saved for the weak
Only to be showcased when conducive

Who pump iron into their veins
looking for an angry fix of acceptance
Sweat streams surge down their backs
Failure prominent in their thoughts
Motivation blessing their features
the Devil clever in disguise

Who see little white fields of fairy dust
a never ending landscape of courage
giving them superpowers beyond belief

Nothing beats the freedom of being told
You can fly

Who dream of equality behind closed eyes
But render to imposed birth rights when open
The upper hand implying more than height
and executing more force than necessary to move them

It’s all about the cause until you’re indubitably
the effect

Who tuck monsters into their beds
Forgetting to check closets for skeletons not quite left behind
in the path of carefully chaotic self destruction
Conveniently purging themselves of words whispered
in the throes of passion
Forced upon the ears of all naive enough to listen

Who carelessly expend countless hours playing with
condescending pawns disguised as adults
All grown up with no where to go
Replacing quality with quantity
Leaving long dull trails of breadcrumbs
leading to hearts long since lost
Never to be recovered again

Who follow sexuality by the book
doing this to get that for this him them who what when where
Why does the finish line have to be covered with brightly colored lace and muffled drunk cries chanting no

Who stare straight dead into the soul of love but never
Never into her eyes
Told she is not worthy of being addressed directly
Fingers itching to cop a feel
Only to discover the body is but a passage to her straight dead soul


Who trade in their voice mind and individuality
for half assed smiles and superficial men
As the face of a leviathan nicknamed acceptance
hands them a paycheck they’ve worked too
night day night night hard to refuse

Who idolize the feel of phantom limbs of lovers past
Twisted words convoluting their heads
Forcing on masks of pure heroine
at the sight of scars left on the soul
Scratching at the need to feel wanted
But cowering at the ability to truly be heard

Who have perfected the art of parallel painting
Elegant red streaks hidden beneath layers of
choppy dark colored hate covering pretty pale limbs
Seeming to fade as colorlessly caked on insecurities susurrate bitter-sweet nothings that curl themselves just inside her mutilated skin

Who scavenged their looks from the bottom of holes
they’re expected to clamber out of
Smiling pretty smiling
Being treated to complimentary meals
Only to be served plates full of disappointment.

Who crave companion’s flaws
in ruthless attempts to satisfy their hunger for compassion
Selfless beings dedicated to less than noble attempts at vanquish
The call for heat too satisfying to refuse the trade off forever uselessly launching themselves into razor sharp blades
aimed at ***** sleeves

Who see soft lips as cushion enough to fall from towers built of fear
Dragging moist palms across pavement thighs
Tearing at the seams holding their
hearts together

Who cower behind brick wall appearances
fruitlessly clutching on to ideas reserved for the most fortunate
Scaring away potential with claws that seemingly only come
out to play in the face of acceptance

Who’s sick stick thin limbs trail their worn down
fingernails in an effort mar skin no one can see
Streaks titillate their bright red scalps
A reflection of their underlying journey

Who disgorge yesterday's meal from stomachs long before empty
Blood spewing from the mouth an open wound
Continuously sewed up but never stitched tight correctly
Wiring shut opinions but never gorged enough to
muzzle their Howls



Ideas, calm and collected have long been hijacked and invaded by Hestia

Hestia! Consent! Content! Acceptance!
Long nights and roid rage men!
Two faces fighting a losing battle!
Girls playing mom! Boys playing war!
Ill ridden parents still pledging to the
United States of Controlling Media!

Hestia! Hestia!
Overall reign of Hestia!
Hestia the beautiful!
Incarcerated Hestia!
Hestia the ******!

Hestia twisted and shaped to form the voice of conformity
Hestia constantly watching over and monitoring
Hestia being told what to ******* think

Hestia seeping creeping sneaking into the
darkest crevices of our minds
Hestia when least expected coming out to say
“Hello”

Too late! Hestia’s already made herself at home
Wedged between the rooks of your biggest fear and
burrowed deep into the folds of
Your  Worst  Nightmare

**** in a constant battle between
rejecting Hestia,
and accepting her.
This was obviously inspired by Allen Ginsberg's "Howl."
Considering it was, at the time, the voice of that generation, Welcome to Generation Y.
This is a work in progress.
Eriko Apr 2015
two opaque eyes
stared in front of me
like two pearly moons
they swirled in milky ways
as I realized
they were what have become of me

quickly, I ****** my arms out
morning spring dew fluttering in
through these cracks of conformity
the piercing chilly wind
woke the life once of me
Lenny M Jun 2015
The Ocean is her home,

But she wishes to venture places Unknown,

Above her world, The Surface world

Bottom feeders have left her post modem bored,

She is convinced to Pursue "New",

Can you blame her for chasing Waterfalls,

Instead of sticking to the rivers that she is use to,

She fiends to be Free,

From the shackles of conformity
My Little Mermaid .. Swim on :)
Aa Harvey May 2019
Conformity is my enemy


Conformity is my enemy;
Everything they took from me, they didn’t know I didn’t want it!
Your society is empty;
All they have is useless to the kid who never wanted to fit in.


We stand apart, on different plains;
I have evolved, whilst your entire existence has just stood still.
You and I could never be the same;
You are so far behind and could never catch up.
They say I should care, but I never will.


Our destinies are walking different paths;
I am route 66 and you will only ever go back.
Your personal history means nothing to me;
Your memories made you what you are,
But you are trapped by conformity.


What makes a man?  You are made from snow.
I am an iron man and when the sun comes out you will simply go.
You are as deep as glass and don’t make me laugh;
I see through your smile into your empty head
And all I can see is all the meaning that you lack.


Go stand in line, buy another phone;
You are just a clone and nobody that I will ever want to know.
Impress me or detest me;
See my apathy
And realise I do not need to know your opinion,
Because I have my own individuality.


I am a freak;
I am a geek.
I am whatever you call me,
But at least I am unique.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Captain Trips Sep 2014
Who do you
want me to be?
SH Jan 2012
as on a musical score,
our parts are dictated,
spelt out in dynamics,
in rhythm, in pitch, in
timing, in tone.

our fingers are being manipulated
across the instruments of our lives,
abandoning the very soul of our existence.

but observe how a little improvisation
in this large chorus of soulless players
does no harm.

it's liberating -
like a line that cares not for rhythm nor syntax nor sound nor length.
On conformity
Colt Jul 2013
for Those who eat ramen by choice, or not.*

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by disillusionment,
lacking egotistical sold, dragging themselves through the hip streets at dawn
looking for a socially self-aggrandizing fix.
Poets, as they sit in desks and discuss discourse
about discourse about discourse about discourse,
who fear that thinking itself was buried with Vonnegut,
who are lost in forests of brick walls,
inviting, because they block the wind of dying fall,
who swim in cesspools filled with academic sewage, yearning for freedom,
for truth, as they always have,
mining their minds for images, and searching for words to describe
-a reality which is virtual at its core and each act, another chore./
-a scene of life which reflects all that is poignant and sacred.
Poets seek musicians while musicians seek poets.
and the dog chases its tail, endlessly
and the dog chases its tail, endlessly
and the dog chases its tail, endlessly

These poets who search aimlessly for the feeling of feeling,
who are overwhelmed with meaning to the point where meaning
has no meaning in itself.
Who claim this poem as their own and continuously write themselves into it.
It is those who suffer in truth that live the poetic.
Those who sit in front of space heaters eating peanut butter sandwiches in winter,
who sweat unknowingly in summer, comforted in each’s odor.
Those who open Macbooks while squatting in empty flats.
Signing up, logging in and zoning out, forever disengaged.
Those who type prophecy on keypads and let keyboards gather dust-
stratification, signs of long nights spent in century-old homes still not renovated,
ceilings sinking at the sides while those above pogo to punk rock long dead,
or grind genitals to old soul, simulating all that is sensual.
Those who play archaeologist to their own layers of makeup, grimed on the sink.
Those who share their food with the roaches and the mooches who all have keys,
who use the books as shelves to hold ceramic mugs, stained with a single drip-drop,
who, with arms crossed, watch bands in basements play noise.
Those who replaced their nu-metal records with folk but kept the unkempt beards.
Those who drink stale beer on stranger’s rooftops.
Those who live with bags under eyes, themselves asleep, lacking a body,
sleeping naked together to stay warm,
sleeping naked together to stay sane,
sleeping naked together to stay touched.

Those who leave coffee in unplugged automatic pots, decaying rapidly.
Those who eat pizza for breakfast, cold or microwaved, as an act of ultimate indulgence.
Those who prance about in un-matching socks
from hardwood floors to vinyl floors to tile floors, all under the same popcorn ceiling,
dancing to the sound of rhythmic silence.
Those who fight with lovers about acts, but never once mention the act of love itself.
Those who don flannel plaid in springtime color, constructing Williamsburg,
who consider gentrification a new form of landed gentry,
who live in poverty as if it were a novelty,
capitalist martyrs sacrificing employment to hide being non-hirable,
who shop in online surplus department stores for unique vintage.
Those who, who, who hoot like the owls framed on their walls, eyes wide but beaks small.
Those who are oppressed by nonexistent kings ruling in imaginary suits.
Those who crave something new, not tired-as the form of this very poem-
something which is not-yet auto-tuned.
Those who, faux-hawked and shredded, rock and bop to Bowie doing Lou
on Sunday Morning from Station to Station shooting ******,
who walk swiftly with denim skin on their legs and refuse socks.
Those who, in their rightest mind, are the wrongest-minded.
Those who can reject privilege only because they are privileged,
who, in their uniform whiteness, denounce racism,
who, in their uniform straightness, claim immune to homophobia
who, with their ***** ***** in a row, claim to be feminists.

And those who search for revolution in a time when rebellion is conformity.
Listening to the  pounding sound of blog-protesters typing n o w.
who, in claiming to accept, don’t accept the unaccepting,
who got veggies tattooed on their sides while snapping bacon in their teeth,
who ironically infiltrated asylums and performed madness until the shocks came
and they were maddened, for good, eaten alive by volts resounding
ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching.
Who sleep naked together to be together but end up being alone,
exchanges from lips that move in pretentious drone,
and the dog chases its tail, endlessly.
When the abnormal is normal and the whole structure is inverted and
heaven is here and flames under the soil are no longer hell burning for soles of the
Converse, Adidas, and Nike sneakers on the bicycle pedals of poets who ride at night,
listening to the sound of owls that question:
who?
whoo?
whooo?
Emm Aug 2014
Oh, the price to pay to be slightly different!
To slightly walk towards a different direction from the crowd
How weary it is to go slightly against conformity!
How dreary it is to go along with conformity!
The conformance that often confines one's own creativity
The solitude that goes along in breaking free
Stemming from general envy
Of a life run free
Jessica Leigh Mar 2014
While quite intoxicated on another Saturday night
I saw something here never seen before
Each of us falling upon this preset line
Each of us conforming into a monotonous bore
Our minds left with nothing to explore
Personal thoughts, not one more.

As I detached myself from this wretched clique
"Wait," shouted a man, "Just one more."
I turned to see a sheep, not a thing unique
My attention he failed to keep, freedom galore
My duplicated mask fell to the floor.
A follower I was no more.

Upon breaking free, all their hatred turned to me
At first a fearful sight like a rifle's bore
Non-conformity shields me best, the mental violence never rests
The rebels you cannot best, the outcasts hold something more
We have something worth fighting for
Infinite expression our minds may pour.
Julianna Jul 2013
Gray. The gray walls. The gray desk. The gray chair.
Even the gray teacher stares back at me.

I look outside to only find myself in company with
The trees. The green, vibrant, and lush buds of the trees..
Oh, how I’m intoxicated by its beauty.

I keep staring out  the pain window glass..I am in the tree,
Touching the velvet buds, looking down at the purple, pink and Yellow roses and daises budding.
Nothing gray can be found here!

I am snapped out of my day dream by the gray paper and gray Pencil landing on my desk. The gray voice saying you have
A gray amount of time. It’s wrong…It’s wrong! It is
ALL wrong! What is heaven to hell, like gray to nature?
I long for freedom, color, and vibrance…not gray bars!
A jail cell! That is what it is!

Substance!
I need substance to sustain me or I will feel empty!
Time is ticking..the buds are turning..my life will
Soon be consumed by gray but I won’t let it! Break
Those gray bars holding you in this cell and just a
Touch upon those green buds…that new life…will
Make all the difference. I can not be put in this reality.

I live in my fantasy. I want to be free with the yellow
Sunshine raining on me. Back in my daydream..but
Now it is bitter-sweet you see. More! I want more
Than gray! I want to feel chills run down my spine as I
Touch the supple leaves of the willow trees and the buds
Of the daises.

The sunshine is pouring on me and I am
Just about to reach out and glide my fingers
Along the smooth branches…until I am snapped
Back into a reality.

I see gray. The teacher calls another gray amount
Of time. My paper is blank, but my mind is not.

It’s time to slump back into my gray world you see,
Because my Fantasy can’t last forever. Only until
The day I am resurrected when the final bells ring
Freeing me from society will the gray Melt away.
The gray teacher carries on and on...but I look back
Outside you see,
And I don’t feel so empty.
Lyz Yearicks Nov 2013
Drowning in an abyss of sorrow
Thoughts only to be forgot tomorrow
Let me drown those evil words,
In absurd ideas that could start wars
I preach it not to feel the burn
Like heaven's hot and hell's not stern
My ice, my castles all in all
Don't try to go up expecting not to fall
Don't crown the king and say it's wrong
Just dance along with winter's song
CGB Aug 2015
society revels in the riddle of conformity
every day, living out this deformity
begging to keep up this crazed enormity
Ann Beaver Feb 2013
Look at him and go out on a limb,
Or am I suppose to use a three by five?
Slop on the mascara,
Know the difference between "por" and "para".
Go to this school, so they can feel secure;
Be clean, be pure.
Starve- you can't be fat.
Fail because you didn't follow format.
"I don't care how well you draw,
Just go to Harvard and study law."
They'll lay out your life step-by-step,
And yes, you will be every teachers' pet.
I don't care what you do;
Be cut-throat, be cruel,
Anything to be:
This cookie cutter you made for me.
High School poem...but I actually read this one at a poetry reading one time...
PrttyBrd Oct 2011
The epidemic of conformity consumes all
Children play by board game rules
Stifled by the world to paint a proper picture
They draw flowers of red with stems of green
Fields of wildflowers viewed as weeds enveloped in insecticides
Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet
That is a rainbow, in that order alone
We are taught to live by the colors in a box of eight crayons
But even so, those colors cannot make a proper rainbow
A rainbow should be praised if drawn in mixed-breed hues
That field of flowers, natures pallet
We should begin with a box of 124 and grow infinitely
Where lilac dragons can live in cherry trees
Where those waist-high weeds hide the predator from the prey
For where would we be without cops and robbers, or hide and seek
In a world where out of sight incites widespread panic
Children's laughter in the sun is slowly silenced by the rules
Instead, embrace the joy and encourage creativity
We should harbor imagination and develop unreality
For it is there that is born the ideas that will form the future
copyright©PrttyBrd 22/10/2010

Written for the Adopt a Metaphor challenge.  Words given were "develop unreality"
Josh Feb 2011
I aligned my pace to the crowd.
I fit in.
It seemed like I had finally found the right lubricant to squeeze into the system I was previously unaware of.
It calmed me, being part of the tide, I rippled and swayed with them.
I would live by them now.
Die by them.

Yet no matter where I went I always had an itching.
An itching that I would lose them.
So I lost me.
So I could keep them.

Soon I was them, and they were me.
The placid rooftop they provided was nice.
The support they gave was good.
The foundation I had laid my very soul upon was well intended.

Not grand, nor regal.
But nice.
Not beyond, or captivating.
But good.
Not lovely, or awe inspiring.
But well intended.

Not what I would like.
But who was I?
I was them.
And they liked it.
Viseract Feb 2017
One thing I know is that we're captured in the frames
Of dead and dying pictures when suppression was a name
Ever since that day, nothings' been the same
When our dead and dying frames were laid to rest in graves

The company we kept,
Aware of beast that slept
The loyalty we paid to earn
Via trust, it was a test

Concepts of romance
Led us an exhausting dance
With lust untamed, demons unnamed
With each rattling breath we exhaled
And the graves still look the same

Here lies dignity,
My memories, my sanity
Self-esteem and vanity
Ripped apart antiquity
And after all this, finally
Accepted into society!
used and abused, are those without power
Evynne Apr 2013
Can you feel all the suffering, can you see it?
Stop embracing the hate of your own humanity, just quit it
Why all the hypocrisy?
Challenge your democracy

Aim for enlightenment
Fight against all ill torment
Oppression, alienation, inequality
The government's manipulative utilities

Explore your human aptitude
Your mind and your magnitude
Because passion is power and
You can make all evil cower

Work to open your third eye
Don't cry or comply, but rather ask "why?"
Empathy and compassion are most important
Without them, moral principles remain impotent

Our world is nothing compared to the entire universe
We are so small, egoistic, and it's getting worse
Focused on all of the wrongs ideals
Creating terrible and false ordeals

Our world is cruel and mean
Too many people die hungry
There's no such thing as equality or true justice
It does not exist in this realm of consciousness

If only we could shift the system and our ways
Then things would continue to fall into place
But change is virtually unachievable
Especially when entities with just intents are inconceivable

Human beings are clueless, trapped in a trance
Don't let yourself fall victim to your ignorance
You need to expand your knowledge and your perspective
Aim to be more pensive and introspective

Challenge absolutely everything you are told
Form your own beliefs, don't let your mind be controlled
Remove yourself from conformity and complacency
And you'll realize a multitude of problems, that I guarantee

You can't trust anything

Hear what I'm saying 

No you cant trust anything

Believing is damaging

Creating is everything, it's promising
Stop adhering to societal norms

Why do you conform

To all that

The government tells us

All that society spells for us
Why don't you realize

Wake up from all the lies

The world is an intricate place, that you can't replace

But you can change your ways and your pace

Create some displacement in the system
Stand up your rights

And what you believe in

Be genuine

Imagine

Not one person, thing, or system

Can tell us, control us, conform us


With enough minds open and motivated
We can help those oppressed and alienated
We can change this race for the better
Let's all work to be that kind of trendsetter
Come on, let's start a movement
So we can see some real improvement
In our world, our ways, and our wisdom
But most importantly in the system
Grant Mailo Nov 2012
I can be you, or I can be them
I can be she, or I can be him
but why be a con artist of someone else
like a shadow to my best friend, when I
can be my own person, a unique creation
created in the image of God but representin my own reflection
because I don't wanna see you, them, she, or him in the mirror
I wanna see me through my own eyes, 20/20 vision, but clearer
but the more I conform, the image of someone else draws nearer
and I begin to lose sight of myself, look back in the mirror, and see myself in the rear
a shadow to another figure, a copy of a personality
livin' out another person's dreamed out reality
copying what they think, and succumbing to conformity
but that ain't me....
what you see visually and how I appear physically
is what makes me comfortable, that's why I'm an independent, politically
I don't follow the norms and rules of what's most accepted socially
the only commandments I live by are the ones given Biblically
I ain't  the best saint though, I mean I do sin every day
but the only one I wanna copy is Jesus Christ, in every possible way
on the other hand, Satan is out there,
trynna tempt me on how to act and even what words I say
he's out offering me drinks, but I reply, "I'm okay"
cause I don't care if "everyone else is doin' it"
I just live how I like to live, that's what makes me a true non-conformist

I dress how I wish and not because it's in style
I keep my hair big, I do whatever makes me smile
I'm not trynna impress you or fit into your clique
I don't give women pick-up lines and act like I'm slick
I'm me, just me, no facades, just real
and if you can't accept that, then move forward but don't steal
the things that make me special, from my poems to my appeal
so don't try to change me and keep my uniqueness concealed
I could care less about your thoughts and any of your judgements
I refuse to give your words power, I can make your points become pointless
I'm not trynna be harsh, I just love to be different
I wanna be an original and keep my vibe realistic
not a second you, but a first me, no counterfeit
I try to keep up with what God said in Matt 26
verse 41, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak
so pray not to give into temptation and stay on your feet
I encourage us to keep our standards and what makes us unique
and accept anyone else who doesn't wanna repeat
everything you say, and everything you do
sometimes it's the people that are different that come off the most true
because they're not sayin or actin' in ways that you approve
they're given you their honest opinion, you should keep them closest to you
don't conform, forget what people want you to be
just be yourself, not a copy of reality TV.
spoken word piece I wrote for an event called "speak on, speak on it". the event was put on by 2 organizations I'm involved in at ASU, B.A.D. [black artists and designers] club and ASU NAACP. the topic was conformity. this is a piece I started and wrote just a couple hours before the event. I really procrastinated on this one. what I'm basically trying to say is this poem is a rushed job. please don't judge me too hard lol this isn't me at 100%! constructive criticism is more than welcome though.
Lo B Jul 2017
why would anyone want to conform
to be known as one of the norm
that’s not unique
that won’t make you be remembered
they’ll forget you by the end of September
what’s so great about coloring inside the lines
the pages of our lives just get more scribbled over time
and that’s what makes us unique
that is how we will be remembered
we will be etched in their minds even in next December
break away break away you see
there’s no happiness in conformity
be that one green apple in a sea of red
don’t you understand what is being said
happiness fills your body when you do what you want and be who you are
embrace what people may see as ugly scars
but no they’re beautiful because it’s makes you YOU
and that’s the most beautiful thing a person can pursue
we are god’s wonderful creations
not meant to stand in formation
a beautiful mess
not a single person is any less
than the other
so stand up sisters and brothers
and be you and i’ll be me
and break away from conformity
Meg B Jun 2014
There's a difference between looking and
seeing.

You can look at me,
but I wonder more
what you see.

Brown eyes,
brown hair,
barely more than
five feet tall;
my feet are small,
as are my hands;
my teeth are straight,
thanks to braces;
shoulders been broad
since I swam,
but my figure
is much less athletic
than it used to be.

I could look
at myself
and point out
a million flaws.
My forehead is much
too big for my liking,
my cheeks are too red,
my top lip is so
skinny it barely
exists,
and, if you ask me,
my waist line
could afford
to look a little more
like my upper lip.

My looks are far from perfect.
Not saying I'm hideous,
but I don't look
in the mirror
to find
America's Next Top Model,
or anything close,
at least not until
my face is perfectly painted,
flaws concealed under
a combination
of moderately priced makeup and
a rather crafty hand.

When I look,
physical imperfections
and inadequacies
stare back at me.
My overly expressive
light brown eyes
give me an
omnipotent glance,
and they beg me to
turn away,
to close them,
to put them to sleep
so that I can
see.

When I see,
it's like a whole new me.
I'm a human being
whose physical flaws
are diminished by
an overly giving, compassionate
heart,
a brain
filled of logic & curiosity,
a chest
swollen full of
endless giggles,
a throat
storing sarcastic words mixed in with
empathetic phrases;
down within me
I see
the woman
who still at times
looks and feels
more like the girl
whose heart has been broken
too many times to count
but still, despite her
womanly pessimism,
yearns optimistically
to love again.
Within me I see
a woman with confidence
and also insecurity,
ambition and fear,
tranquility and rage,
hope and despair;
I see dreams,
wishes,
prayers,
meditation;
I see a beautifully
complex soul
trapped in a world
that begs it for
simplicity and
conformity.

I guess when I look
I only get a glimpse
of the body
that feels the need
to be perfect,
to work out a little more,
to weigh a little less,
to fix her hair the right way,
and to dress in the right clothes.
The self-conscious me
who still fears being weird,
who cares what others think,
who worries if my parents are proud.

But when I see,
out comes the woman
who says
**** the status quo,
I can't be put in a box,
I'm beautiful the way I am,
and nothing stands
between
me
and achieving
my
dreams.


When I look,
I don't see,
but when I see,
I see me.

I feel the brim of my glasses graze my nose,
and I know,
even once I take 'em off,
my vision
is better
than ever.

— The End —