So what if I don't conform
to that picture-perfect paradigm
you've placed me in so presumptuously?
Maybe I'll tear my way out
of that cold, conventional cage
you think would be so cute
and run away on a rough, uncharted path
overgrown with entangled woods
that I'll figure out as I go along
with a map from the one who made them.
I've heard all the tired reassurances
and not-so-subtle suggestions,
but maybe I just don't feel the same way
and don't like being (s)mothered.
What if I never find a nice girl
or a white picket fence and green shutters
or two point three children and a dog?
I'll just find volumes waiting to be written,
or a room full of young minds waiting to be filled,
or an open space at the foot of the altar
waiting for me to come near again.
You think you can strike a match and spark a flame,
but the wind could blow it out before it ever begins.
What if the fire just never ignites?
Would it really be that bad?
Author's Note: This poem has a sequel, entitled "Swiftly Shattered Systematics," which is also on my FictionPress page. If you liked this poem, then feel free to check it out as well!