literature

the cycle of conformity

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guy011's avatar
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Literature Text

My heart is just a heart among others
and my head is heavy because of it.
I cry into the same pool of tears
cried by the whole world
and I hide under the covers
shared by nearly all.
Imagine me, a falling droplet of water,
plummeting with the ones identical to me,
plummeting with every one of them,
as I sparkle and shine uniquely,
but similarly to them all,
as I am stuck in that cycle of condensity,
with THEM.
Snowflake among snowflakes,
differing in similarity.
Is there no swap? no stop?
to this repeating? to this weariness?
Bubble in the beer I am.
Beer in the bubble, I want to be.
Endless skin cells make up the body,
me being part of the callousness on the heel.
But
I long to be at the brain,
I long to be the brain,
I long to have my heart to beat differently,
not the same pattern,
not the same speed,
not the same time,
to theirs,
I dont want my heart to be
just a heart among others.
conformists never made history. the bubble/beer analogy is not to do with alcoholism, and its not to do with my irishness. AARON.
© 2011 - 2024 guy011
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aaron2571's avatar
Loving the irishness :D