A Change
I wrote this poem about objectivism.
A Change
I used to care.
I used to squirm.
I used to suffer
all under their scorn.
They’d say selfish.
I’d cower at the sound.
Say it now.
I’ll laugh
for it’s the sweetest word.
Without it there is no life worth living,
no memory worth keeping.
But back then, difference meant sin.
They were always right
and I wrong.
Now I refuse no lonely battle.
I shout, “Bring it on!”
For I know when I am right
and they are surely wrong.
They may beg, force, or deceive,
but my only weapon is always safe
when it’s my mind that I set free.