Do I see what lies outside
Life within the lines, defined
Confined by society?
Is it me, or is it we that decide
Where conformance falls?
I help to set that line, so
Isn’t responsibility mine?
I turn away from where
The detritus resides beside
Their favourite door,
Then hate my provinciality
For hating their reality.
This isn’t me, I say to myself,
My conscience is intact,
While, in fact, it is my act
Of diffidence that
Makes the difference
To them.


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