Barricading our creativity and emotion

they stand

As tall as our dreams

And as vague as our goals

Amplifying the feeble ground

they stand

Constructing our world

Limiting our thought

Cubing our flexibility

Opposing our expansion

Confiscating our will

they stand

Recording our gesticulations

Blocking our share of vitamin D

and separating us from 

the two feet of non-institutionalized world we drool over

the pieces of dirt we worship

and the vitamin D we necessitate

The ethereal tale of the walls commemorating our stories

are nothing but that:

ethereal.

The romanticized story told from an optimistic mouth 

filtered through your optimistic ear is

failing to optimize reality in your unconscious

and yet,

we have chosen our sixth sense to be

“imaging transparency”

The power that they posses is already of damage to us

but still we give

We are generous like that

We dare to assume the assumption of the walls around us

speaking

Sound boiling in their dry,

concrete,

hard throats as they prepare to vocalize their feelings

“their”, “feelings”

Two words that will add to their possessions

Slowly they weaponize their infant words

and their chapped lips manage to make a sound

and the pressure is building

and the world is watching

and the anticipation is brutal

and then,

Clamor Commotion Tumult Upheaval Noise

The constructed world becomes a cinema

and the whole world is watching and don’t you dare 

look away from this because it was a movie

you paid to see

it was a topic fascinating enough

to draw you in and

now that you are in

there is nothing but commotion

The barricades are talking!

The amplifiers are roaring!

The confiscators are chaotic!

and it was all because the trap of a romantic story

had you upside down all the while.