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.