Boxes

Everyone wants everyone else to be the same.
Same insecurities, same questions,
So that they don't feel so alone.
Curly brown hair doesn't match the required straight black or blonde,
just like grey doesn't come close to matching blue or brown when it comes to eyes.
There's a standard to living,
A new standard to life.
So you get picked on.
They want you to become them;
Become the same as everyone else.
Ignore them - be yourself.
Life's good.

I had a dream...
High solid walls belying escape,
Boxes on a machine rack.
You look inside to find small embryos,
Barely conceived.
Look up, an assembly line!
People ctowding onto a small platform,
Jostling to be first.
To be the first to be the same.
Castoffs for another day,
People from another time.

"Then they are put in little boxes, and they all come out the same."





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