Kind, caring, orderly.
Kind. Caring. Orderly
Kind.
Caring.
Orderly.
Orderly.
The word hovers around me like a mosquito.
I've tried to escape them.
I run, run, run.
I run so far I don’t even know who I am.
I’ve tried so hard to just be
Orderly.
I’m told I have to be perfect.
Stand straight.
Bright smile.
Kind voice.
Soft hands.
It is the demon that haunts my life.
I want to scream “But that's not what I want to do”
I want to have fun.
I want to play around.
I want to get messy and just be a kid.
But I can’t.
Forced into a box of this orthodox idea.
Never once has the box been opened to allow me to breathe.
Never once have the locks on this orthodox box been unlocked.
When I am asked “what do you want to do”
I want to be freed from what confines me to be like everyone else to not shy away from tradition.
For once I want to be able to breathe the fresh air that is unorthodox.
In which this box locks me away from.
Just once.
Comments