Man
I, the man you think I am,
have yet to place a reaching hand
to the window of conformity.
Here is where I look through smears
of how I'm to appear
to be called a Man by those who view.
Though I value all I am,
Award a prize for myself I can,
Yet I know I am not what you want me as.
I'm cutting corners in your eyes
I'm who I want to be, to your surprise.
Not conforming to your rigid line.
Toss me to and fro,
Hope I do as you've told me so?
No, my sail will catch a different wind.
This man I'm becoming now
is who I've sculpted, with a furrowed brow,
burdened by pressure of who I could never be.
Conforming is that older brother
who wants his sibling to be another
clone of brothers past and brother's chore
Nonconforming is the younger boy
who follows what his heart enjoys
who walks without a backward glance.
Let me shatter the glass of norm
even if I cause a storm
I'll take that jagged window frame.
Set it up, I will, to a different of view
where people will enjoy the new
Man behind the picture pane.
This is good... I really like this. It made me think, but not in a forced way. If that made any sense at all.
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