“Nice clothes”, is the cry from out of the night.
As I turn to spot this mocking, almost accusing
Voice, I stare and see, many pairs of eyes glaring
Like their lack of individualism. One calls out “Wanna fight”;
But I have moved on, the cold air batters my face instead.
I have escaped though the feeling has not,
The passive threat from an aggressive coward, so mean,
Still makes me tense with anger. I fly now unseen.
Why should I care what was said and forgot,
I am an individual in a world full of easily led.
To say that and believe it would be vastly untrue;
For individualism will always be false, you are never alone,
I copied someone, who copied someone…we all became clones.
There is no man alive who has lived the unique rule,
And gone their own way: just like the man before.
I complained that I had no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet