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Poem
It’s a funny thing, life 
Like the tightrope we balance on, the maze we forage, 
Poised and sharp like an edge of a knife 
We scramble to keep up with life. 
A puzzle we solve with struggle and strife, 
Chasing the future, we hope to survive. 

It’s a funny thing, family 
We share our blood, our race, 
Our genetics, our face.
Yet some grow up, only knowing a cruel touch
Some grow up to only hearing a… Shush!
Some grow up too young, face to face with discrimination. 
And abuse, racism, confliction, lack of communication. 
No money, no love, no education. 
They leave us bruised and heartbroken.
“Home! This is our HOME!” But we go unspoken. 
“Home? Where is my home?” We stand erodin’

It’s a funny thing, conformity
Labels and boxes, we shove ourselves in with a sense of uniformity
Organised and neat, with our qualities and beliefs shoved aside 
Too messy to fit in your standards. Yet too low, I place mine.
Too loud for the library,
Too quiet in the crowd.
Too pretty to be ugly,
yet too hideous to be proud. 
Too closed off to be out there,
Yet too out there to be in it.
Too judgy to be nice,
Yet too kind to be cruel.
So, we continue to shove and cram our insecurities and abnormities down,
Until we’re all hemmed in the same gown and forced to wear the same frown.

It’s a funny thing, civilisation 
“Do this but don’t do that.” 
We stand, we fall, we weep as one. 
Yet we’re spoon-fed lies, taught myths as fact, we all know the worlds not flat. 
We speak of peace but still wage war, 
So, innocents die at the hands of hypocrisy trapped in a rich man’s lore. 
Money is life, and death is a dream, 
Beauty is your personality, and your individuality is not what it seems. 
Judging eyes, sneering smiles, 
pick through hearts, leaving wounds that last for miles. 
We follow like sheep, never asking why, 
Not seeing the edge—until it’s time to die. 

It’s a funny thing, death 
Its cold-blooded exterior, make our knees quake with dread 
Although who can blame its softening whispers and warm embrace in our depth 
It comes in tortured screams, or silent despair, 
We fight, we flee—but in the end, he's there. 
Coming in forms of blinding light to shadowed truths, 
We accept him in the end, no matter the fight, we all end up in his roots. 

But since it’s so funny, tell me why- 
why no one laughed? Only heaved a sigh. 
Laughing with tears in our eyes.
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