Soldier

You think it’s funny

Calling that kid a faggot

You tell yourself it’s okay because he laughs along and shrugs it off as if this is no big deal

But you have no idea

No idea that tonight he’ll go home to a family that thinks just like you

That it’s okay to call someone a faggot so that maybe they they’ll change.

Change to what?

Some phony manufactured identity that society has deemed “normal”

But that kid

He doesn’t give a damn about what society has to say

For he knows today is his last day.

But no one else knows his plans for eternal peace

Although they see the scars of battle forged on his arms they keep going

Faggot.

Wuss.

 Pansy.

Bang.

He pulls the trigger

Today marked the end of his fight.

He couldn’t take the forever uphill battle of living as an individual in a society that looks at those who aren’t manufactured institutionalized soldiers of conformity as freaks that deserve to be punished, even to death.

But he no longer has to worry about this battle.

He’s found his peace and has become nothing more than another casualty on the war against the individual identity.