Box

This box you’ve created for me

Oh how convenient it is

With it, one word tells you

All you think you need to know

One box is all you need

Then your data collectors

And government experts

Know so much about me

“to know me is to love me”

But you don’t give a f**k about me

That little box tells you

Little preconceived things

Like how I vote, how I worship

My eating habits, my TV shows

My cultural tastes

How freaking smart you think you are

But that little box doesn’t tell you

Right now as I write

I’m listening to Igor Stravinsky’s Orpheus

While you contemplate ways

To sell me fried chicken

Sell me Malt Liquor

Have me watch reality TV

Sell me basketball jerseys

Sell me misogynistic and crappy raps

But I haven't sold out

I'm not a stereotype

I'm a man, a proud man

That knows who I am

The little box tells you I’ve maybe read

Two or three books in my life

all of them had pictures

when in fact I’ve read

Plato’s Republic as an 8 year old

And understood it just fine

That box tells you I don’t speak proper English

Yet I speak it just fine

With some Spanish and German to boot

Your little f*****g box

Is only for your peace of mind

A device to control

A construct of confusion

A way to keep certain people

Out of certain jobs

You think you’re so damn smart

Whatever