Wrought with taboo, how trite.
Rebels, yet we have our propriety,
Despite the cry of nonconformity,
The opposite our blight.
But seldom practice what we preach.
Differences are swiftly quelled,
To breach the model, quickly felled.
Hypocrisy is what we teach.
Diversity our claim, yet in contempt
We hold the novel to be,
Yet the masses are exempt.
Even mild anarchy, some surely attempt,
A worthy fight for non-uniformity.