You have to become a surgeon to find the pieces of nonconformity which they have hidden internally
The bilious feelings, leaping heart missing beats, sex drive revving, the true person the true mind, muddy dirty covered in the feces of monsters,the gargoyles the guardians, keeping your marble gate closed on your pandora's box, but unbidden all within will stay
That's how humans live.
For the most part we are bitty lopsided hermaphroditic animals, with parts cut off and left in the most convenient dumpster for scavengers to eat
Or we boast and bark of how witty and how well we fit-in with all our rotting adjustments, “Prithee mark me, sir” rutting in our confidence until we are lost and bereft of a good goad to make us mean it or put meaning in it, just humping like curs behind a thin door, ravagers, to an erratic beat and an off tune