the space station hums with the early morning traffic, the wafting of coffee and fresh croissants filling the air. for the first time, you are not behind your desk, hitting your shins on the weirdly placed piece of metal, but strapping yourself insi...
cracked hands like a bare river running over dark and flushed skin for the hands of society molds people
not clay
we are sick and tired of hearing these voices dancing behind our heads in a mocking symphony
tell me my forehead's too big tell me again, I implore you oh voices that never stop
talking
tell the woman down the street she shouldn't be taller than her husband marry someone else, marry someone else oh you mocking voices which never stop
judging
tell the ten year old on the swings her cartoon character skirt is too young for her age oh voices which never stop
nitpicking
tell the teenagers hanging out that they're too young to understand the world but too old to rekindle childhood memories tell them they should be responsible but never make any single mistake oh these voices which keep us
confused
for the world is not built on the backs of those who judge these horrible, mocking voices
but by those with fire underneath their tongues and broken, half-written prayers on their lips
and by those who take this world and make it something beautiful
so silence those voices with duct tape on their lips
and exist
exist loudly
in spite of the ones who didn't want you to exist at all
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