Being a hostage to linguistic tapestry, I find no solace,

No ethereal link to withstand time's pace.

Amidst this intricacy, am I a misanthrope?

Advancing in defiance, where deviance finds scope.

Hunching beneath repetition's heavy trance,

A choice between assimilation or a unique stance.

If I choose to lock the door, must that label define?

When close quarters nauseate my core, is "misanthrope" mine?

Yet, am I just a product of life's circumstances,

Budding from stories, caught in existential branches?

Rising to meet reality, stories lived or heard,

In this duality of tales, my essence stirred.

Is "misanthrope" a label that I should embrace?

When I seek solace in my own chosen space,

Society's norms seek to encase and mold,

Must I be broken for not fitting the fold?

Distant, selective, a realm perhaps of frost,

Qualities that some deem forever lost.

They don't allure me as they should,

For perhaps I'm not meant to be understood.

So, decide what you will, label or let be,

Because in the end, it's my essence that's free.

Amidst this dance of existence, I find my place,

In the unique rhythm of life, my soul does embrace.