The Fear of Being Real
Why do we tremble
to show ourselves as real and true?
Hiding the self because of what others might do?
We weren’t born pre-shaped by society’s mold,
not formed by the codes that the masses hold.
If each new rule were carved in stone,
countless souls would stand alone—
imprisoned for not being what’s deemed right,
while the line of “good” shifts overnight.
Our selves are not fixed in place or time,
They bend and grow, a changing with mankind.
Yet why do we scorn those who do not fit,
Who walk a path we cannot permit?
For in the end in clouded verse, it’s clear to see,
Ethics exist in each persons individuality.
It’s within ourselves that the compass turns,
Not through the lens of another’s concerns.
With 8 billion souls under the sky,
Can we write 8 billion rules to comply?
And what of the rules never spoken,
The silent chains that keep us broken?
Do they whisper, “It’s wrong to be true,
To wear the skin that belongs to you”?
So why are we afraid to be real,
When the weight of judgment we all can feel?
Perhaps the truth lies in being free—
To live as we are, unapologetically
WoPoLi 
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