A Day in the Life of the Human Race (Poetry Volume I)

Chains

They are chains.

Chains digging into my freedom, chaffing and mercilessly ripping at my tender skin.

And I have been born with the desire to let them choke me to death.

I was never shown how to escape.

My ancestors threatened to slit my throat and then promised me they were doing me a favor.

My aunt just looked at me and smiled sadly,

"it's destined to happen to you too"

But I must prove to her that she is wrong.

For I do not fit into the holes they have left for me.

I must be careful not to take up too much space.

Not to allow my timid little voice to scream and beg for release.

I will not. Ever. Turn out like them.

I will not become so infatuated with someone that I allow them to destroy the already burned skin beneath my chains.

I will not become so bitter about of my past that I allow it to shun me from all that is light.

Allow it to choke me.

I will never ever teach myself how to hate.

I may even have to make a knife in my own little toolshed,

I will make it out of memories and laughter and happiness and the belief that they are, and always have been wrong about me.

And I will use that knife to cut myself free.

Because I will not ever allow anybody to tell me how I will be.

They are wrong.

And I refuse to ever lose sight of that.