patterns

trying to be yourself
whilst others hold you under the
microscope,
these “patterns” revealed,
those of which do not lend any
conclusions,
are drawn up as if they do,
by individuals out on the branches
as crows at a funeral,
like vultures in the desert,
like bloodthirsty scaremongers
wanting the whole of your
happiness
for themselves---
funny to meet s/he who roams
as if the world was their oyster,
funny to meet such a naïve twit---
funny to watch them change like
Autumn leaves,
into those very same wolves
who hunt in packs
to stop you from exhibiting any
individuality,
any semblance of a unique path in
life.