My Prison

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My Prison

Control of oneself
is highly overrated.
I contain all the so-called
good and corruptible things,
compartmentalizing them
into dos and don’ts.
Their sterile walls
painted black and white,
never mixing colors, gray
is unacceptable.

My self-styled freedom
now only a prison, and
I the architect.
Bound by limitation, the key
in my bottomless pocket.

Please, take it from me!
Release me!

Scrape the moral scum
from off my pure breasts
and other cryptic parts, spoken
only of in hushed tones, like
a dirty little secret.
Make me a babe in the woods,
Exorcise the orthodox
conditioning preserved in
my tissues, poisoned.

Let me lose control.
Be controlled, for once
relinquish all my striving.
Risk it all, be at the mercy
of Nature, where the voice
inside my heart screams,
I belong!

 

(Come by and visit open mic night dVerse )

17 thoughts on “My Prison

  1. I’m in the midst of watching a video of an interview of JT Gatto. He mentions telling his students to question “why” they were doing and studying things. He said that mostly they didn’t ask. They were too conditioned not to ask. It set me to wondering about all the things we’ve been conditioned not to do or be or feel. You picked it up and carried it further. Thanks.

  2. I the architect.
    Bound by limitation, the key
    in my bottomless pocket….nice really like those lines…and there is a great change of pace at the scrape the moral off stanza…sometimes it feels good to lose control…smiles.

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