Oppression

the hands of time crept up and lept from subtlety to ***********- from insane to startlingly pleasant. take the tone more civilized with pronunciation----- every single consonant and threat singly noted devoted to the attachment to a face. with every word comes another thought-------- it's absurd this notion of opinion- this idea that we have ideas ourselves-------- WHO ARE WE TO THINK ANYWAY? WE ARE NOT WHAT MOVES THE DAY WE ARE NOT WHAT GIVES THE SAY OF NO OR YES WHAT COULD BE BEST OR WHAT SHOULD BE PUT TO- rest easy, the mind itself sleeps for nothing, 8 hours prescribed every night, achieve the best if not the worst will be attained and what will be left? the ostracized and cast aside the flowers ripped and torn---- ----------- i wonder now and then, what could have been, what could have happened if we let it. things could be so beautiful so daintily graceful and delicate with our hands to dance through, our bodies the stage for the greatest show that ever was------- that never was. the grass is always greener on the other side THEY SAY a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down THEY SAY it was all deserved and necessary in the end THEY SAY. well i say it's bullshti a world turned upside down the round earth contorted into sharp ends and corners where people and souls are abandoned to themselves with guardians who never even took a first glance. it was the day everyone decided babies didn't need names anymore, the parents reassured the skeptical I'D KNOW MY CHILD'S CRY ANYWHERE! and the next day parents became orphaned. pencils or pens any writing utensil i reach for when i learn the anathemas of nature the corrupted ways of society as if the paper itself will agree- will stand and see that i am right and they are wrong, the words I KNOW will come alive and speak forth for me and everything will be fine one day when everyone discovers just how literary they are. but poetry i know goes without saying, writing goes without reading, people have better things to do-- they instead bury their paws in dirt (cuz they didn't know it was really wet cement) and move years later, realizing their error, and remain stuck in the vein they cut. if only things with wings could be the ones that fall, and the things we call retarded insane crazy beyondhelp could be the ones that fly and find their way home without need to ask for directions.