You know what’s wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You’re chicken, you’ve got no guts. You’re afraid to stick out your chin and say,
“Okay, life’s a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other,
because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.”
You call yourself a free spirit, a “wild thing,” and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage.
Well baby, you’re already in that cage.
You built it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land.
It’s wherever you go.
Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself
Evolution on a planet I can't call mine
yourself
wrong
world
wings
whole
wasting
walking
yours
universe
gonna
alone
complexity
stick
complex
where
built
chicken
belong
happiness
wherever
already
goddamn
barely
define
beliefs
evolution
hypnotized
alive
degree
terrified
afraid
anybody
because
chance
thing
bounded
existing
other
whoever
somali
human
really
meant
running
through
individuals
planet
living
matter
texas
piece
sights
society
somebody
people
spread
spirit
tulip
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