The world can be quite an imposing place:
Endlessly demanding conformity,
Always with a dark new enormity
To fatally threaten the human race.
Inventing novel lenses to retrace
A protean past of deformity
Molded for the current majority;
What does that look like on your only face?

The only thing we can do is be us.
Here, where death awaits individuals, 
We know our term, yet we only revere
Those who burn singly, even unto dust.
Let's live and love without hurting our peers,
Joining our own paths as originals.

Today is the day numbers consecrate.
Brothers and sisters rejoice and partake
In rites to render the soul less opaque.
For some a special day to contemplate
The wend of being and our modest fate.
Today is the numbered day I'll remake
Myself from a whisper, and I'll awake
From what normal perceptions obligate.

Further, higher, breaking the boundary
Between a unit and totality;
To go beyond the superficial fronts 
And realize we don't know reality
When our misconceptions start foundering.
What does that mean? I've smoked a few good blunts.

I don't know how to prove I haven't quit
To you when my intentions haven't changed
And my aspirations are still arranged
The same as they'd been with no deficit.
I might say I've taken deliberate
Steps to become a little less estranged
From my poetry dreams, though not deranged
Enough to think I could be laureate.

My hope is to grow enough to produce
Something of substance you could interact
With, something which finds its harmonic use
Each time you supply your personal fact.
And you could rest assured I tell the truth:
I dream although the shape is inexact.