uniformed

they’re wearing
turned down faces and dejection like
it is a uniform they are privileged to own,
forgetting that it is a loan
from the consistently consuming
culture created in our bellies, we
we stamp in time with a chant
agreed upon before our existence,
it is
the unwavering desired to be glorified by self
glorified by self
glorified by
self
there is safety in the masses until the masses break the shelf
until we trip over too many toes and find
that the bell has struck twelve times and our
true uniform comes into view, we
we are exposed in the light of what is good and, well,
we are not.
we are caught in this decision of whether to let rejection and dejection of a down-cast nature drive us or to thrive without uniformity.
am i willing to let my idol of self go
for that?