They have built themselves a box.
A metaphorical box you see:
Held up by what you have to look like,
How you have to think,
What you have to wear,
How you have to act.
Almost everyone stays inside the box,
Fearing the emptiness,
The loneliness of being one of a kind.
But you may come upon a day,
When you go outside the box,
Even just a little.
Maybe your hair isn’t straight enough,
Maybe you forgot your Nikes,
Maybe you thought of an opinion that no-body agreed with,
Or questioned the opinions already in existence.
Once you pass this point,
The point of differing yourself,
The box slams shut;
Taking your dignity with it.
You float about,
Lost in the feeling of being original,
Of wearing what you like,
Not what they approve of.
Not many can survive this,
They cannot pry the box open,
Even with apologies for things they didn’t do.
The only way back,
Is to beg and plead,
While they mold you like silly putty.
In the end,
You are one of two things:
An astronaut, floating about space with nothing but your mind,
Or just another plastic,
Perfect,
Shiny,
Uniform,
Barbie.