data plans

we all choose our plan

we set our own stage

but when it really boils down

we're all stuck in a cage.

plastered with the frowned

of the latter, looking drowned

oh boy, it's such a drag

to be labeled as the f*g.

in our copied dark age of credit

we social norms surely edit

the character root in brine

the data that may define.

---

living as a number

we're told to be no blunder

how frankly really kind

to gift us their own find.

with no mind to keep withhold

just another digit:

our time that's growing old

inside the status quo.