as I walk down the
crowded steets seeing
nothing if what I am.
walking by the faceless
clones shuttering in their
paced steps, looking for
the newest fad to consume.

prisoners of war. they walk to
their fate of living a fake life.
no story book child hood fantasies.
just the population conforming to
what they are expected to be.

white cords flow from their
ears. programming what
they are. I stand alone. screaming,
for them think for themselves.

trained by fake culture icons.
whishing they were the next idol.
wanting nothing more than
the greed and the money from
their fake idols.

where is my generations ginsburg?
who will step up and lead these people
from their cookie cutter lives? can one
writer change the face of society, like
the beatastic writers from an almost
forgotten generation?

I will not conform. I am looked
down upon. a small speck
in the world from the view of a
747.

I will not be what they expect.
I will not!
I will not be another drone.
I will not!
I will not be anything but me.

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