I am a conformist

I am a conformist.

I enjoy the things you do.
I eat fast food: greasy, ill-mannered, unappetizing.

I fall under general American apathy.
And try to say something witty about not caring,
I don't understand the economy either.

I crave stereotypes.

Shiny, framed images.
Places I'm sure to find happiness, despite what experience has taught me.

I am just like the rest of you.

Leaning against the edge of my box and straining,
Looking behind and seeing familiar faces,
Learning that I'm not as unique as I used to be.

I am a conformist.

I arrive early, but don't leave early.
Sitting in my assigned seat.
I fill in the test bubble.

I fill the voids in life with cookie cutter people.
Sleek hair/bright skin.
Even as I look for the mistakes of the batch.

I am a conformist.

I don't jaywalk.
Green arrows equal permission. Permission equals go.
I like permission to go.
Falling in line, falling in line.

Obsessed with image.
Yours or mine? Leave that question stand.

I consider the herd before making a decision.
Subconsciously, of course.

This makes me a conformist.

I am a conformist because I can't take life for what it is.
I can't appreciate its unplanned value.
I repackage.
and I'm not happy when it doesn't rearrange into a Disney movie ending.