To fit in means to shape in a collection of pre-existing molds,
But what happens to the gold?
Where is the mold for the religious person who fails to understand?
For the one who questions sides,
Even their own?
For the one who wants to cry in a sign of trouble,
Or struggled to breath when a triggered has been hit?
Where is the mold for the scared?
For those who are worried about making or connecting with friends
Because they are afraid to hurt them.
For the ones who want to fit in a mold,
But rather be bold
And fight what they ultimately fear:
To be hated.
Where is the mold for those who struggles to leave their safety cocoon?
Not because they are scared,
But because life’s demands build up
And they feel like they are being left behind
So they pick up speed only to trip,
And now they need to swim to survive the ocean that formed
From societies opinions of what they should do.
Because they are 16 and without a car,
Because they are 18 and without a job,
Or 19 and without a concrete plan
So that they can lift themselves out of the water.
Where is my mold?
Does it even exist?
Do I fit in a mold that doesn’t comply,
Or make my own?
I believe I know the answer.
YOU ARE READING
Can Anybody Hear Me? (working title)
PoetryMy struggles and views as a Christian going through life looking for those who understand me.