The Flames of a New Utopia

This is not a utopia. I will not sit here And be lectured by people With a lack of life experience. People who wish that The world is perfect And people do not sin. These are the irrational, The daydreamers,  The innocent. But they feel the need to  Meddle in the business of us. The angry, The sinners, the sad. We are the imperfect. Our very existence crushes their ideals.   And therefore, they hate us. They may not know it, But we are the bane of  Their existence.  We are the epidemic  That they try so Pompously to extinguish. But our flames Only rise higher and higher. And soon enough Their water will become  Meaningless.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world

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