I can sense their eyes tear me apart; personal wrecking balls. Every move I make is surveyed as if being judged in a competition. But I'm not here to win; no. I never signed up for this one. I was caught like a fish one a line, and tossed into this whirlwind. I can hear them pick out every detail of every move I make. And for some reason, I care their opinion. They are top; they control the chain. They control the tribe I will eat with tomorrow; the things even I will say out loud. Nothing will go unnoticed with their vulture eyes. I have considered this path, and here it is; my make it or break it deal. I inhaled and began. This time though, I didn't follow the rules. I didn't converse about how I desperately need to be the color of an oompa- loompa, or whimper that my mane wasn't straight enough. I had an opinion, and only the top could hold that. With fear of losing power on their minds, I sensed them put me down; shun me, disown me, abandon me. And I was happy to be out of the rat race.
The Rat Race
April 10, 2010