You think of history
Imagining people far less advanced than you
ignorant and without vision
living in black and white.
Your mind in its pride declares with a sigh
I would have done the “right” thing.
Stand up to your darkness for the
Sake of the light
It’s better the beast you’re aware of.
An independent thinker, perhaps you consider the ways your psyche’s being played?
Subliminal layering is the criminal deity of a society run by the sales.
But the work of the pennies makes peaks in the capital whilst pummelling the poor into place
And a bed on the floor would ample support
If only you determined your way.
The women around you don’t look like themselves
They’re beginning to morph into one
It’s the pressure to modify, ubiquitous beauty lies and denial of dismissals to come.
So they starve, shave, pout, paint
From ageing our women must run.
But as soon as you mention your feelings there’s tension
So you separate yourself into boxes.
Because this voice is supportive and
Sexy and moreish
You’re scrolling your way down a pit.
It’s information overload
Everyday in battle mode
There’s no fruit to reap once you have quit.
Reality really grinds
So pull stories over our eyes.
Fairytales of how it all should play out
Ideals that make choices less hard.
But tragedies shape us, mundanity won’t break us and loose ends can be accepted.
You’ll never understand it all in one strand
but know that with effort you can.