Every day I refused to conform,
causing conflict, but what is the norm,
who's to say and anyway,
in a teacup no more than a storm,
but why should they hold sway?
Every time I was so inclined
to step out of line, they'd remind,
hoping to prevail,
altho' I was not resigned,
someone would assail.
(Good luck with that, but keep it under your hat)
On rare occasions, the subject broached,
I was appreciated and approached,
for what I did by being me,
and yet, who else was I supposed to be?
You Are So Right!
To Not Think You
Are Better Than
Anyone Else...
(Exception Noted.)
Because It Is BETTER To...
Without Feeling Like
You're An Idiot Because
You Think So...
Don't Be Stupid!
You Know Better!
Because It’s Normal
As A Group...
With Exception.
I Gotta Relax...
What?
-Gray Squirrel
06-25-2026
PRESSURES TO CONFORM-:-
particularly
intense
imitators
awe-struck
respect
set APART
pitting
wits
skill
repeated
competition
in CLOSER TERMS
spurred
manifesto
envisage
aesthetic
beliefs
Oh, no! The one giving the eulogy said.
I have lost my keen ability to conform.
Her family gave each other knowing looks;
she had never obeyed.
She was not the type to follow along,
color in the lines or do what others did.
The giggling started and it never stopped;
best celebration of life ever.
Because their matriarch had pre-videotaped her entire eulogy.
My Baby:
Don't be too quiet, yet don't be too shrill,
Don't be too restless, but neither too still,
Please grow up hardy, yet soft to the touch,
Not seeking too little, nor asking too much.
Years later …
My Child:
Don't be precocious, yet don't be too shy,
The middle-sized apple of you father’s eye,
Don't be too forthright, nor keep to yourself,
Don't be too daring; but care for your health.
Years later …
My Son:
Don't aim too high, nor get stuck in a hole,
Nor hang back if offered an uninspired role,
Please don't take the high road or even the low,
The main road is best ... not too fast or too slow.
Years later …
My Epitaph:
Here lies a man, who knew how to conform,
Who never left harbour, for fear of a storm,
Avoiding the hot and the cold for lukewarm,
In loving, but not too loving, memory,
Of your only son ... Norm.
It's a constant battle with oneself and society,
with a ridiculous amount of severe anxiety.
Why is it such a big priority,
to live in this world of propriety?
To get through life, you have to pay a fee.
Conformity, it's the one and only key.
You need the paper, you need the degree.
But what use is it, when you're not free?
To blindly follow what society ask of thee,
is something of a mystery to me.
Without the need to fit in, to just be,
should always be the greatest quality.
In this world there is so much variety,
but still, people look down on sobriety.
Who says they have the authority,
to judge another's personality?
Sadly, this is the ugly reality,
a world without equality.
Why is it such a big priority,
to live in this world of conformity?
What use is it, when you're not free?
On my work book you
Own, now our conform
You concur
You own book
Conform won
Known now, you own book.
This is what I say about conformity
What an absurd abnormality
Why would I want to be like them
When I feel great about who I am
I don't care if they like me or not
Just as long as they give me a fair shot
People are out for nothing but money and fame
I cannot believe they have no shame
Don't strive to fit in with the crowd
And try to make others proud
Be yourself and stand out
And then you will have no doubt
That the people aroudn you are true and real
They actually care what you think and feel
I think one thing about conforming
This is something we should start reforming
So simple, that we turn to this
we turn and inside out we twist
our words and lips to blow a kiss
to darkness as it echoes
So wicked, that we listen still
we turn and twist against our will
upon the back that's broken 'till
it sings our voice in stone
So human, that we err to breathe
we twist the knife of words with ease
until we wear a mask of weave
uncommon hot with knots
So broken, that we turn away
we twist and mold the words we say
when darkness comes around to stay
we find our thoughts are stolen.
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