those days when it used to be that stumbling into the lines which were drawn to show you who and how and what you were supposed to be, those are the most fruitless, hated days. the ones where the path of resistance was the end sought, the path that bore the person so horribly average that there was nothing distinguishable left about you. the path where you'd swallow those words that might have been spoken had you been able to resist, and stuff yourself into those clothes stamped and mass-produced to death, and blare the so-called music proclaiming so many things you truly would never do so yourself.
don't be branded. don't fall in line. and most certainly, do not remain silent.
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