People dress up their figures
  to be stylish
their words
  to be proper
their thoughts
  to be clever
their hair
  to be pretty
their minds
  to be accepted
their hearts
  never to be hurt.

Until today
I’ve always thought
the effort to make my words pretty
was motivated by something artistic.

When really the motive is no different
than the little voice which says:
“An Armani suit is better than a flannel shirt.”

Fashion, or the inherited conceptions of people
reconfigured so as to appear new,
has been the driving force of my life,
whether positively as a supporter
or negatively as a rebel.

But I don’t accept one word of it.
Nor do I accept the casuistry
  called arguments
which people use to defend their various modes
of fashion or opinion.

It is all pure rubbish
and stale
whose defenders use words
cooked in the very same pot as their beliefs.

Now consider this:
It doesn’t matter what you look like
so long as it reflects the dignity of your nature;
it doesn’t matter what you sound like
so long as it’s the voice of your own heart;
and it doesn’t matter what you think
so long as the thoughts are your own.

The rest is garbage, an don’t let them tell you otherwise.
If the above philosophy renders me ugly and misunderstood: oh well.
Those words come from their vocabulary, anyway.