Tragedy of Conformity
This social ritual.
The awkward dance.
Unconsciously gathering
signals. Clues.
Trying on expectations.
Shapeshifting.
Is this what’s required
to belong.
Camouflaged, in conformity.
Never being seen.
Souls bright constellation
dulled,
a distant backdrop
unnoticed behind
countless actors.
Characterless carbon copies.
The great tragedy
of conformity.
If I stay, long enough
will this costume
stop chafing my skin,
crushing my ribs,
constricting my breath.
Shallow. Forced.
If I stay, long enough
will the whispers of longing
fade.
My heart's truth forgotten,
tucked away
in a dusty box.
