that the interactions between us
and the rest of us
define who we are.
Some of us have chosen to embrace this fact
Some of us have chosen to be indifferent
And some of us have chosen denial.
Like bodies in a morgue,
We isolate ourselves in bags
And tag ourselves 'Rebel'.
Supine bodies writhe
And contort and scream
"We are not you!"
"We define who we are!"
"We are our own person!"
The punk rocker clothed in hide
The glint from his lip piercing a distraction
From his cries against dictatorship
The birth child of industrialism
and blind deviance.
The gang-banger from the ghetto
With a Glock in one hand
And a mic in the other
Ancestral hate flowing through his veins
Ancestral hate the target of his rage.
The 'gangster' from the HDB block
Stepping to the beat of a furious silent song
Designer trucker cap hanging loose
Crying power in all the wrong signs
For what good is power that never existed?
Invisible, powerful, contagious
Hate.
Each one shunning, hating
Something.
Ending up never truly loving anything.
The thing about something that's contagious
Is that you'll end up just like the other guy.
Who's non-conformist now?
