So you say I’m cynical, that not everything
is sewed in haphazard stitches of reality.
Perhaps it is you who does not
look more closely at life’s delicate stitches.
So you think I’m stubborn, that my feet
are glued to one plank of thought.
Perhaps it is you who cannot find
stability in a sea of drowning ideas.
So you believe I’m opinionated, that my fire
should lay in the ash of passive living.
Perhaps it is you who fears to seek
the abnormality of conscious, vivacious growth.