The American: Rough Draft 

I grew up American:
Stymied by the hopes and dreams and fears of generations
Largely unknown and lonely
Always coming or going, rising or falling;
Oh how we live on tomorrow

Our culture mass produced by those few cities it pays notice to;
Our myths massed produced,
And the color and character of a nation mass reduced to the man in the grey flannel suit,
Who suffers the death of cowboy as hero each day he wakes to trade his life for a lifestyle, his fulfillment for pleasure, and his character for approval

Oh how the American desperatelty wants to fit in,
As if that were the goal of life, rather than happiness,
The American does all the things he thinks he will be loved for,
As if his conformity will save him from his loneliness

His need for approval via self-esteem always pushing him on the path of self-improval,
He seems forever a rough draft

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