Fake

I grew up in a world obsessed with being real,

Trying to make it my every priority,
When it's barely my ordeal,
They ask me "Girl what is the foundation of your being,
Surely not the foundation you're wearing,
Here found on your facial features,
Is your actual self,

Stop lying and deceiving other people who want to see,
Their future in you,
With your lipstick puckered,
And your mascara uncovered
Also,
It looks more natural too"


Well I'm sorry,

That I wasn't born with clothes on my back,
As I am sure that when you came out from your mother's pussy,

It was with polyester t-shirts stuck to your chest,
Since you don't subscribe to anything at best,

Unless they are natural too?

The complicated truth,
Is that millions of beautiful wonders,
Do not come from an earthly womb,
Humans weren't made to play the violin,
We were not conceived with ridges on our fingers,
To ease the act of pressing strings for a chord to mesmerize a room,
Yet we practice and practice until the shivering timbre of thunder
Emanate from orchestras not made of clouds,

But of  carved steel and timber,
Composed or asunder
Til we've become indifferent to the pain of pressing metal,
In the pursuit of creating all that is magical,
But yet, not natural.

But then, 

You judge me for being fake, a mockery of authenticity,
Yet you use money, of which there is no inherent value,
The papers only by legal boards, central banking Edict & Virtue,
Does it hold worth in currency,

But I am not the current, see?
Not the oceans smitten by arbitrary winds - those monsoon breeze,
I build ships,
Armadas that do not sprout from the ground,
But from the trembling exertions of my aching hips,
Nailed, boarded, and christened,
Because, oh God, how I am bound,
To sail away from all your bullshit,
Accusing me of lacking sincerity,
As if my empathy,
Is based upon the shades of my lip kit.

Dear preacher, canonized,
Sainted by the Church of Conformity,
Noisier than the Vatican, hailing from Twitter City

I have read your scriptures, even let them read me
(Empty souls longing for community),
And I know you have no regard for what is natural
(We are not beasts, not animals)
You simply want to starve us off of our sense of self,
And delude us with some illusion of absolutes you nicknamed "normal",
Like trying to resurrect the laws of the jungle,
Where scurrying packs fear the unknown,
Obliterate all that they label "not understandable"

Well I am erasing all of your tick boxes and that is final,
I am not etched in stone,

The next time you whisper to your friends,
"Oh how plastic", as if it is not used to make prosthetic,
For the veteran who lost his arms during the war,
Or for the acid victim's surgery, attacked for what she wore,
Remind yourself that we all have our artificiality, 

We adore,
In our own amazing way,
Whether it's the computer-generated artistry,
We relish in our cinemas today,
Or the human-made flying machinery,
We long for (especially during delays),
Or the dreams we tell ourselves we will achieve someday,
Even if left under dusty floorboards of a decaying yesterday.

Note to self, dear reader:
We are special because we exceed the impossible,

What is otherwise limited by laws or physical barriers,
We overcome repeatedly since time immemorial,

It's the humankind career,
This obsession over what is natural,
Is clinical,
And to every degenerate still whining about makeup,
Our minds are made up,
This is the beauty I chose you see,
And nature has got nothing on me.