Manipulation sews me into knots
Distressed that I'll be pressed into a mould
So critical of even idle thoughts
Just 'is this what I think or what I'm told'

I'm never showing solidarity
When conflicts don't involve me in the least
Inconsequences have no parity
To any trap for this week's newest beast

Their hunting bands are leaving every day
I watch them follow loudly in the flock
But different constellations guide my way
And isolation arms me as I walk

Yet do my "facts" and "arguments" ring true?
Or is rejection all I know to do?