We, victims of mainstream’s influence,
Numbed by its voices pounding in our ears
As they try to mold us
To become one of them,
Must break away from their grasp.
We are artists who still
Hang onto our dreams
With our hearts still beating
And our minds not quite dead,
Still fighting off the Grim Reaper,
Our cemented dreams
Barely floating in the heavy air,
Our hopes still flickering in the dark,
Our eyes still able to see the beauty
As she appears to us in her splendor,
Whispering softly in our spirit,
“Arise ye friend and keep me alive.
Mainstream has molded and shaped you.
It has numbed the heart and laden thy wings.
I designate you an instrument of my thoughts.
Thou shall be a mainstream renegade.
Break away from its hold on you.
Become an independent thinker.
Reinvent the absolute.
Give it a new name.
Find the charm in its new state.
Give it wings to fly.
Let it blossom and play with the wind.
Listen to what it says.
Make up new words to help it fly,
Then designate thyself a true artist.”