I am held, helpless, in a cubic beige space by a collective of faceless beings who despise goths and want us to change. I was not born to wear a suit. I was not born to serve you. I was born to wear my dyed blue-black hair long and loose and to bellydance my way through long, sunlit days. O where did I go wrong? Was I born in the wrong century? My tattoos tell the world what I can't ever dream of saying out loud...