I Don’t Fit

I don’t fit
snacks in-between meals,
cut me down to size,
an hors d’oeurve of ideals.

I don’t fit,
claustraphobic, the boxes,
more suits with no case,
the labels are toxic.

I don’t fit,
no sense to my humour,
I’ll vacate myself,
become consumed, with consumer.

I don’t fit,
this life, what’s expected,
there’s a beauty that’s found,
on the wings of rejection.

I don’t fit,
put my thoughts on a diet,
I’m condensed, you’re condescending,
skimmed, milking an ending.

I don’t fit,
so big, but not clever,
the hide from myself,
real genuine leather.

– Brocarde