The Way We Are

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We are born. We are taught, this is the way

I live in this family, this neighborhood,

This country. I look around. I want to fit,

To look, smell, taste, act like you. I buy into

Pre-packaged beliefs, plans, ideas. As a people,

We dance in synchronization, a ballet

Indigenous to our area, our caste.

Until, one day, maybe, one person shifts;

He drapes beads around his neck,

Pulls on a tie-dye shirt, grows his hair

Long and shaggy, exchanges boots for sandals.

He searches, sees others who look like him.

They hang out. They look, smell, act alike.

Is he different? Is he a different “same”?

It’s hard work to make my life not be

An imitation, a reaction to family, friends.

I dig deeply into assumptions, mostly hidden;

Some scream hysterically in the light of day.

If I succeed, if I live with my own slant,

The trick then becomes, to not think

Everyone else should be like me.

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