He’s caged, he’s got nowhere to run and in front of him is the Devil. His father smiles down at him and for a second the boy spits. The wad of saliva and phlegm lands on his father’s shoe. The man doesn’t even flinch.
“Worthless,” he hisses, the sharp smell of alcohol on his breath. “Waste of money. Shoulda killed ya when you came out.” Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. “Maybe I’ll make good on that promise tonight.”
The bars are not real. I know that, though I feel them brush against my skin as I strive to move forward once more. The bars are only in my mind. He was kind enough to explain that to me as he departed, leaving me to my fate. And yet knowing they are not there is different than actually breaking through them. Feeling the slap of hard metal against my skin, the crushing of nerves until all is agony is enough to keep me back.
The bars are not real. But they still seem to be real enough to serve their purpose.
I see miles and miles of cages. Cages filled with minds, cages with virtual bars, but effective for all that. Minds that put themselves in the cages and refuse to fly free even when the doors are left open. Cages that make us feel safe and numb.
the cages that surround my cerbelum with key-dangled white gates
are not my fate
I brood what I choose
and bam
all my woes and wonders
aggregate.
My persona is aggregated by my experiences and toils
everyday life grocery shopping questions like,
“do you want 2 or 3 bags”, is what I foil.
He’s caged, he’s got nowhere to run and in front of him is the Devil. His father smiles down at him and for a second the boy spits. The wad of saliva and phlegm lands on his father’s shoe. The man doesn’t even flinch.
“Worthless,” he hisses, the sharp smell of alcohol on his breath. “Waste of money. Shoulda killed ya when you came out.” Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. “Maybe I’ll make good on that promise tonight.”
The bars are not real. I know that, though I feel them brush against my skin as I strive to move forward once more. The bars are only in my mind. He was kind enough to explain that to me as he departed, leaving me to my fate. And yet knowing they are not there is different than actually breaking through them. Feeling the slap of hard metal against my skin, the crushing of nerves until all is agony is enough to keep me back.
The bars are not real. But they still seem to be real enough to serve their purpose.
I see miles and miles of cages. Cages filled with minds, cages with virtual bars, but effective for all that. Minds that put themselves in the cages and refuse to fly free even when the doors are left open. Cages that make us feel safe and numb.
a cage is a thing that any kind of bird will go in although, it doesn’t have to be for birds it is probably just a suggestion.
cages of my own mind, ive been searching for the key for so long but the door has long been open, I used to be caged by them but now I cage myself
Why do we put ourselves in cages? Blocking out some of the best things that life could offer to us. Some of the best people life could offer to us?
We do it to protect ourselves, that I understand, but can we try to just open them and let someone in? Just try?
the cages that surround my cerbelum with key-dangled white gates
are not my fate
I brood what I choose
and bam
all my woes and wonders
aggregate.
My persona is aggregated by my experiences and toils
everyday life grocery shopping questions like,
“do you want 2 or 3 bags”, is what I foil.