Why must I be normal, and do normal things?
Who made me believe I would fly with new wings?
Why must I conform, re-enact what I see?
Who made me believe I’d be better - and free?
What makes it so hard to embrace each new task
is the critical take, hypocrisy’s mask.
Therapists decree that I follow their lead,
repeating each problem, each failing, each need;
diplomas display their bland theory and creed,
insidious weaponry. I’m left to bleed.
From my point of view, it’s outside me that’s strange.
I’m content being me, so why should I change
to fit into a world where frustration is rife?
Let me be
leave me free
it's my choice, it's my life.
marilyn unmasked 