For every nail their hammers tapped into
your flesh, for every hole they drilled, for each
new scar they raised to leave that strange tattoo,
give thanks. The only thing the stupid teach
is wisdom—beauty which they cannot see.
Consider birds and flowers (as someone said)—
they have to pass the same exams you do:
none. If you sing and wear your petals red
then God himself will ask no more of you—
so who’s to ask for more? Not them. Not me.
It may be obvious; it’s still worth saying:
"A game with stupid rules is not worth playing.
What’s left is yours. What leaves with me is mine."
So leave. And turn the light on, Bruce. And SHINE.