Fashion
I have all these magazines, what did they teach me?
Rags collecting dust in a pile beneath me
paint splattered down my body - eccentricity
it excites me, moreover it revolts me
what would they say if i adorned them indefinitely?
then you know who I am, what I was born to be
but this cloth isn’t a product of my creativity
i am what you are and what they claim to be
always with one eye on the damned hierarchy
pick it up pass it on it’s tiring being free
rat race, faster pace catching up with me
blinded by hunger for futile individuality
but each day the face of anonymity
rears its blessed head for only I to see
when the rags of the riches are like gold dust to me
pick it up pass it on it’s tiring being free
Copyright © Emily Harris | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment