I will not be owned,
thought of like a gratuitous puppet,
raped of self and individuality.
I protest to being shaped by societal standards,
by wagging fingers of spite.
Thereupon, I dismount the carousel of customs
that is to the naked eye,
satisfying,
but that only spins in circles,
taking the same tattered track,
never giving birth to new trails,
never obliterating boundaries.
i am drunk on dreams...
doubtless
with no sense to sober up
society will brand me.....
and still,
I'll remain a free spirit,
living like a gypsy,
roaming like a vagabond,
filling my cup of wanderlust.
We are sculptors of our circumstances.
Grip the wheel
and blaze straight into your most madca