On the importance of safety-pins.

All these conflicts in our minds..
More of them are there, outside.
And yet, lights of our answers
Are what we choose to hide.

"Wrong" is overused and foul,
And has no right to exist
"Original", now, has no face,
Becomes the one too often missed.

We hang on to the trivial,
The so-called unimportant things
As a way of revolution
Against the hands that grab and wring.

These are hands of God almighty,
Or the teacher's, mine, or yours.
We have all felt the pressure
Of the Wringing Hands before.

They cannot allow you thinking
In a way that is your own,
So, let's seek the mountain where
The trivial winds have blown.

Hence the way I seek to wander,
Hence the oddness of my bag.
I would be original
If I had to make you gag.

Let yourself show all the "wrong"
Everyone's been keeping in
And, never forget this one, small fact -
I like my safety pins.


I always find that the best inspiration comes when my mind is altered somehow, for example, when I am sick. So that means the usual wiring of my brain suppresses what I'm capable of?

And yes, I am aware that this is shitty poetry, but, well..