I hear your voice;
standard American,
perfectly Midwestern,
nothing out of the ordinary.
Enchanted, I want more:
I press play, I press pause;
I rewind, and repeat.
My eyes rest on your horn-rimmed glasses,
on the lines around your smile,
on your salt and pepper hair.
you know me so well,
though you don't know me at all.
Tell me more about myself
and about everyone else like me.
Our thoughts are numbers on your scales,
our pain reduced to aggregates,
the cuts on our skin
are graphs projected on the walls
of a cold conference room
one brisk Saturday morning.
I could hate you.
You butchered my beautiful chaos
and packed the parts in sterile boxes.
You look down on me from your lectern
but, your eyes say something else.
Do you really want to know?
Ask me; I have no idea who I am.
destruction is not merely the eradication of such as it is the
embracing of a sort of baptism. taken not so delicately in the
form of intentensified schism-- relativity divided in the course
of collision, hands reaching out blindly for any guidance
at all, & accepting the first grasp. what isn't good isn't always
bad, learned in life, as it all must be; taken in the huge dosage
of truth-be-told, & purged all but completely in growth, in
so-called 'progression'. sat & ticked in a session in any session
with any person of any corporations organizations, nothing is
different as they all want the same from the same. but none
know that this can't be had (the sad will always be sad).
does this make you mad, mister society? mister intellectualization,
far-far away, watching from a safe distance- does this infuriate you
as much as us, the idea that we are nada compared to majority?
nothing we say means a thing as it all falls down beneath the feet
of superiority, crushing our bodies with each movement, reminding us
we are only the stairs, & not the doorway. we get walked on instead
of led through. we are being had.
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