Break the Mold
Look in the mirror. Look at them. You're not like them. You like something she doesn't? You're odd. Act the same or get shunned; fit the mold or be recast. We're nothing but bricks to a wall, steel to a tower. We're the foundation of stereotypes. We're firm and strong, stuck and rigid. Post 1984, we're birds in a pin. The pecking order is established, and you're a disturbance to the foundation.
Culture and religion define them. They follow the Rules. You have as well. Freewill is the first and final political platform, and its truth is as thin as any campaign promise. For them appearance is everything, but you've learned appearances are deceiving.
Now, I'm afraid we've shown too much. They've left us behind. A society obsessed with independence™ has turned a blind eye to us. Maybe we're just the wrong sort of independent. You're the wrong kind of individual to their tolerance.
But if we start now, we might can catch up. Just wear this and we'll fit in. Say these words and they'll accept you. Remember your dose of Idle Comfort® lest you stir any displeasure. Sit up straight, clap in unison, bite your tongue.
Why are we doing this? Because we desire their approval; isn't it obvious? We want what they have. We're more comfortable with a mask than with ourselves. We'd rather lie to keep the veil up than show the truth and face their wrath. We slip into our costumes, but we're still uncomfortable: the fabric is scratchy; our hair is stiff; our feet are cramped.
Keep quiet. It hurts, but we don't want to hurt them. Don't shake the status quo. We should let our souls wither inside. Hide your thoughts. Don't express yourself; don't let it out. Let it die. They can't hurt us if they don't know us, and we can't hurt them. If it's not visible, surely it doesn't exist.
Appearance is everything.
And yet, now, I wonder. Perhaps they didn't leave us behind; perhaps we left them behind.
We could venture farther. I never liked this costume; I never cared for this veil. Perhaps we became too used with to ourselves; perhaps we believed in them more than ourselves. We trusted their vision over our gut.
Appearances are deceiving, and their wonderland is our prison. We could leave. It's up to you. Should we break the mold? The wall might crumple, the tower might topple, and we might be free.