So we went to the pierogi spot,
a spot my company wouldn't have chosen,
but I was tired enough of the manbun and sandals crowd.
We sat and the group took issue with my words not preordained
The draggings, I embrace them like I sometimes embrace
the one closest resembling a wife.
The truthful essence of things somehow exists beyond approval.
It causes you to risk life and reputation, if you ever had one to begin with;
So as I sipped my stout not of a microbrew variety,
I thought of how I'm one of the simple folk marked for extinction,
but I'm among you here
and I hope there are some of you out there still living,
beyond the approval of others, a truthful essence
of man or woman or in between or out between or no between,
or meandering, perhaps above or below it all. It's the cross
sometimes thought culturally christian,
but really a result of syncretism used by cultures
that would've otherwise vanished.
There's always a tension between individual and collective good,
there's a collective fear
that if I'm truly myself, that if you're truly yourself,
we'll have forgotten our parents, our wives, husbands, children,
but the inner and outer for me remain connected
and the path to the crossroads remains open
and I accept you all,
even the manbun and sandals among you.
I just won't go to your restaurants.