We All Know One

A brazen sharp tongue that protrudes from your mouth Paints pictures of settings of dissenting from dominance, And convention, alike. Refuse the primary places Where great things can happen. To conform is to die, and death is no option. To be one of them would mean to digress From all you think you've fought for, All the "toil" and "stress". Bold external diversity, But thoughts seem alike. Both sides striving for the top Of a food chain of sorts that nobody can control. The legendary chasm that separates the kinds Of people that we are and our anxious rare minds. But where would he draw the dividing line center? On the place of the public, or one only he can enter.