social scream

My parents,

foot soldiers of the middle class; never did undo their boot straps, 

but they brought me here.  

Iconoclast-

I was raised in a culture storm.

The frame I stepped through held an indomitable door, I had to run when I left.

When coming home I lingered on the stoop.

Listened.

Deliberated.

Would have been hustled off had I not been related.

Tugged strings up the genetic code 

laughing, I demonstrated

Consecration- the self-proclaimed ego manifestation,

the off springs suggested role.

Last year 

the big screen came to disrupt my peace.

Relations bludgeoned

couch became the new gathering place. 

I monkeyed on the stairs and hated.

Of course this was only after my perverse urge for sifting through the worst of commercial-kind had been sated

one tax bracket higher 

one more day for complaining.

The burdensome viewpoint: 

Libertarianism's cutting edge sadists

burn their neighbors with closed eyes.

So while my roots are the proprietors of those rose colored goggles

which dictate the automated prejudices

that become bitterly re-hashed fragments of corner common knowledge,

and though i could skate past with no notes 

and live on in a university college

I urbanized

suffered secession whiplash and tried to diversify.

In all forms of life 

I came to recognize that old beast, ignorance.

Still this numb skulled practice outlines the most colorful scenes-

kaleidoscope chunks,

in a collage masterpiece.

I often am stifled by my own practiced ambiguity.

Class war

it's in my chest I guess,

as one with little ground to stand on with ever moving feet

I've been beat. 

Public enemy number one

is found to be 

the product of abject veneration 

for some pile of gold unseen.

Shades of green,

dictate our social lives

and personal style

Our futile armor suggesting we are as we seem,

when all we are is human.

A human collage masterpiece.  

Author's Note

Any comments/advice/criticism would be greatly appreciated, thanks for reading!