The Idealist

I’ve been called many things in my life
Some more shocking than expected
But worst of all the words thrown at me
that I hold as virtues
As if being an “idealist” is wrong
Or called a cynic as though an insult
Things get to a crux for me
And I wonder if who we are on paper
Is the same as off of it
Without integrity, what are we?
Left to have our lives defined by others
And our identity written for us
That we should dare not question
Are we so afraid of the thoughts of others?
Would we so readily abandon ourselves
To be placed in increasingly narrower boxes?
I know who I am
And I’ll be damned if the people I care about
Don’t know it either
I will not accept things the way they are
If it is at the price of that knowing
Or that being
Some men bend
Some men cannot
And so we break, or leave before we do
I will no longer be afraid of doing so
I hope courage finds us all


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