Wrap anecdotes within your bones
and run through the hollowness
where their soul belongs.
Will you still caress
the sage green mistakes
of your lilac kingdom ?
Stuff mud in your pockets
like biased media gulping politics
where your ribs cry out in misery
Will you still not burn
the autumn leaves that fall off
from intolerant trees of bigotry ?
Bake habits instead of syndromes
amidst blind crowds with 'standards'
where your individuality suffocates.
Will you still repeat
self doubting yourself for people
whose judgement barely matters ?
Shape life without a wardrobe
like the embroidered pottery
where your fingers speak silence.
Will you still dress
As the saffron folk deity
with an immoral fandom ?