A Mosaic of Choices

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I am a victim of conformity.
Constantly told to meet a standard.
They put a label I don't want on me.

Labels. A limitation of my choice.

Because if I don't meet those standards,

I don't get a voice.

 

I've met those standards.

 

My transcript looks incredibly clean.

But those numbers will never truly define me.

 

Because no matter how hard they try to make this circle a square,

they won't succeed.

Regardless of all the limitations, they can't change my rebellious personality.

 

They'll never change that I eat mayo straight out of the jar,

the face I make when I'm running a race,

the way I sing loudly in the car,

the passion in the art I create.

 

It's impossible to calculate how deep my thoughts can swim

or the pride I feel when I say, "I'm a feminist."

 

To standardize my intelligence might be a piece of cake.

It's impossible to conform my personality
because my life is a mosaic of choices I make.

This poem is about: 
Me

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