I’ve spent so long trying to beat “them”
that my sanity only exists by the seams on its hem.
They play by the rule of society’s game
but I’ll never conform, I won’t be the same.

My mascara has a tendency to bleed
and upon my emotions, china dolls feed.
Although I sit here lonely and numb
the conformists still haven’t won.

Unnatural and without any flaws?
I can’t abide by counterfeit laws!
I’m perfect in my imperfection
yet they bask in my pain for their delectation.

Here I am, a fractured recluse
as they try to abolish me with their rule.
In this world, I have to be a venomous thorn.
They will have to kill me if they want me to conform.