fuck you. i am the trend.

a poem for those ready to leave the identical soles and souls.

i won’t

borrow the cataracts of the blind.

or follow

just to follow

the path more traveled by —

the trail worn by identical soles and souls,

who bleat to the beat

of the bandwagon.

i aspire to aim higher

than those who

bow to the idols of each other,

who hum hymns

and preach platitudes

and forget

the name of their Redeemer

as they step out of their Sunday best

and the cock crows thrice.

leaving the masses

demands payment in full.

estrangement

as a ransom.

for my betrayal to

the ennui of status quo.

nah.

i see your tricks.

i won’t carry the weight

of the plaids and khakis

whose mimicry in the concrete jungle

should be photographed

by national geographic.

“nature’s copycats,”

the caption should read.

fuck that.

i am the trend.