Bus Culture
No I'm afraid I'm not an automaton
in the sense that I fail to conform
I wanted to carry the stick on the bus
and not leave it outside because of us
I would say please excuse my rudeness
but it be a fiction inferred from a moral mess
so instead I look into your eyes
your simple mind they fail to disguise
A diagnoses of weirdanity
is clearly directed at me
mindful in my challenge
you mindless through sleeker means than a syringe
thoughts running parallel to my actions
but you equal a congealed set of reactions
I really truly feel
you all deserve to be killed
and yet I am an automaton
as I cannot turn my emotions on
but there is still meaning
all around it is beaming
a constant expression of dull
is the stain that appears on my soul
but underneath it is active
questioning and creative
unlike you batch no10 of hens
you who refer to yourself as men but are also women
who a behaviourist could fully account for
commodified, stamped and brought in store
your insides being sucked out
all on display for the right amount
but I have my stick on the bus with me
and I show more depth than the applied term of weirdanity.
By Ellese Elliott
