Transformation is a bitch.
Your underbelly bursting through its restrictive seams.
The fear of the pain
Is substantially worse than the pain
The fear of the bully
Out guns the fight.
The fear of who you may transform into
Has cause many minds to tear asunder
The brain drain clogged
With clods of clay akin to mud
Even the most free minds are ruled by some sort of theory,
An ethereal sovereign entity
Which manifests itself through ideals
And those ideals are often sold to you
Along with paradoxes,
Like fuck other people
And their opinions.
So if I’m supposed to cast aside other opinions,
Why the fuck should I adhere to your ideals?
Why the hell should I entertain your appeals?
Give a fuck about how you feel?
Who exactly am I supposed to become?
Someone who caved in and have to succumb?
To that which someone else brought into his life?
Telling him not to fear the gun, yet cutting him with a knife?
How do we achieve it in a world this backwards,
Where there are no rights or wrongs
Gifts derived from free will.
You stand on this mountain
While I perch on this hill.
You clean it up
While I’ll let it spill
Young adults mind trying to decipher the Bill…
Long nights filled with ceaseless nothingness,
Or rabid upfrontedness,
We bounce around as if we have definitive logic
And we know our way
Because the transformation into something else may not be correct
But what is correct
How can I connect what I think I know
To what actually is
Or what I should be
To what I know I did
Seems like I bid
Every day to become a better person
I’m on this bitter excursion
That I’m told is sweet
That I’m told is sour
Read this book on the hour
Get your ass in the shower
Fuck books get paper
Read books, brain shapers
My synapses taper
But opinions tie you to the world.
Fuck the world.
But I’m a citizen like everyone else.
Fuck everyone else.
But how can I do that, its not universally sustainable.
I don’t think that’s a good argument
Fuck that argument
Its my opinion
Fuck your opinion.