Me bitching about life through poetry.

Movement

Turning, many meanings with many stories.
Turning the other cheek from the staring eyes and your cold back.

Don't worry about them, they're only judging.
Whispers from the corner.
Brain? The room? You can't tell anymore.

Why does it still hurt?

Chin up soldier, boys don't cry;
but make sure that skirt doesn't show too much thigh.

Silent and stiff, ready to be sorted;
Dreading, hating
Wishing you were aborted

Life's expectations thrust upon you.
To do well in school, at work and within a house hold.

But for some it's too much.
Resorting to a drink or pill.

Sadly too many do not notice the ill.

So stop

Think

And respect

Everyone has a path and a means of travel in life.
Who are we to judge the vehicle?