With a mind wrought for tearing down
With a soul taught to take orders
With eyes trained to beware
With feet driven with purpose
With hands for prostitute tasks;
How can I be Me?

My mind is trained in analysis —
I split hairs with the sharpest of razors;
All speaking I’ve learned to call “claims”
I mustn’t ask if they’re true,
But rather ask how to prove them;
How can I be Me?

My soul is bent by the tide,
It’s forced to “be reasonable”
Forced to “face the facts” —
The facts are the social norms,
The reasons are reasons of power
How can I be Me?

My eyes and feet and hands are slaves
of a tortured mind —
My mind heeds the norms
And feet come trotting in line;
Treading the path that all men must tread;
I know there’s still another.
How can I be Me?

How can I be the tool of a system,
How can I heed the voice of the norm,
How can I play the grand blinding game,
How can I think the pedestrian thoughts
How can I struggle to share the drab road,
And follow the fabled path?

I know of a path leading out ‘cross the fields,
to left and to right rolls misty moist grass
After the meadows, rise hard black trees;
Light laughing branches weave in the wind,
Cool green mosses and stones under foot;
Further yet further it leads.

The leaves wrap my body
The sun warms my soul
The trees sigh their welcome
The earth groans deeply, and
hearing the groan, I learn something
of love, and hints of much more.

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