As a child I followed the Precisionists
Who walked loudly down marble hallways with ruler in hand.
I appreciated the structure but could not reconcile receiving an F on my A+ paper airplane
For our assignment on the history of aviation.
The Naturalists had the most beautiful and sun-goldened people,
And after I joined I could truly see the seasons and their ilk.
Cliff diving while my brain melted in the twilight was a religious experience
Until my best friend died on the rocks.
The Gothicists were a surprisingly friendly and welcoming group
Despite the bone piercings and skull tattoos.
Their embrace was like the bottom of a heroin binge-
Dark and seedy but warm inside.
The Realists (or Modernists) led a quaint life
With homes built small and efficient,
But they were always fighting with the Fantasists
And I didn't want to be swept away in pretense.
The Individualists waited all along
But sometimes their side chatter was too much to handle,
So I'd find some kind of group to compose myself
Until I settled on a style of my own.