They call me a PC because I'm not PC (A Poem)

They call me a PC
And by that they mean outdated, old-fashioned
Fashioned in such a way that wrinkles behold my face
And I face, the competition with the young and new;
The Mac is what they call him
Adding Daddy to his name
Might just be pushing it too far
But you get the picture
Or maybe not
Maybe naught can explain
What is going on in my brain, at the moment
Cos I'm not PC

Nothing like the Mac

Let's take it a few centuries back
And you probably won't find him
Well, neither would you find me
Where that leaves me, I don't know
All I know is that I wither
Nowhere to branch to
Our opinions should be one?
They want us all to be PC
And if I'm not
Then anger stems from the others
Disdain, and ridicule such that cannot be rooted out
Ouch
It hurts, when you stand alone
The fruits of this decison is sour
And it gets tougher as the hour, passes
Clashes
With the Titans, It's War
Or
Maybe, I should be PC
But wait, I am PC
Well, to some degree
But please see
I mean no hate in my speeches
I mean times when I just don't agree with your opinions
I don't have to, do I?
See, I'm just a non-conformist by nature
So definitely, my views will clash with the entire universe
Uni-verse
See, my verse is only mine, Uni
Or Uno,
Well, you know
That this is no joke, innit?
Cos I'm still here, innit?
I mean the universe, I'm still in it
And whether I'll change or not, we won't know until the day that I leave it
But till then, I'm outdated, I'm not PC
Or maybe I am PC
Who really knows?