The Aged Peacock Poem by grace mariner

What can you say about the peacock?
Is he to be ridiculed for his elaborate display?
Should he be humbled by cruel words, reminding him that
vanity is a deadly sin, of course forgetting ourselves
that deliberate cruelty is equally so?
Is his pride to be trampled to put him in his place,
to make him more like us?
I think not but the world does not agree,
Uniqueness is a thing to be embraced, not used as
fodder for ridicule and disdain.
But that would be in a perfect world...not here, not now.
A young girl dyes her hair pink and is adored.
An old woman does the same and is mocked.
A peacock is a peacock his whole life.
So it is with the individualist who sees the world
in an artists palette.
My view of the world is no more and certainly
no less than yours.
My adornments will not threaten your perceived piety.
Your foundations will not crumble, there will be no
coupe or overthrow of your freedoms or your sanctity.
Let me live, and be, and create as I choose,
without your mockery or self righteous condemnation!
My canvas, whether in black and red velvet, a studded
dog collar, metal hoops, or in ink is just that, mine.
It reflects only my creativity and my extroversion,
nothing more.
I was born a peacock.
I will die a peacock.
I will not, can not change.
So don't judge, or ridicule, or try to extinguish my passion as it
will not make yours burn brighter,
I am what you see, but so much more