Poser

These words rattle around in my head

Like a symphony of judgement

And the harmony is my identity.

It's the sentence for the crime

of wearing what I want

because it's out of character.

Does a flower loose its beauty when put on a corsage

and then a prom dress of a young girl?

Does the rainbow only have 

seven colors when it's the sky that caused it?

My clothes and my style

are my choice. I like the clothes.

So why am I fake

or a poser for wearing them?

Why does a style belong to

a type of music?

Why does a type of music belong to

mental illnesses?

I tell them I just want to be seen,

They look away.

And I'm alone.

A poser in a sea of truth.

I'm fake.

Because of the road I choose.

But at least that choice is mine.

At least I'm not mindless

doing what I've been told isn't for me.

At least I know who I am

which I can't say for them.

I'm not a poser,

I'm the realest me there will ever be

and they can take

everything away from me

but that.

I

am

not

a

poser.