I am beaten by the potent hammer of society,
warped and wound into a pleasing trinket,
easy on rose-water eyes,
forever steeped in ambitions and dreams,
yet I am just gilded.
One small crack in the glistening shell and I’ve lose all value,
The glorified mend that promised me a shine as bright as silver,
suddenly nothing but a heavy varnish to shroud my oddities.
I am irregular,
I am you,
and we are nothing more than cast-offs that didn’t hold our mold.