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Perfect wooden boards on the floor,
that’s what the world wants.
No off color, perfectly aligned, exactly this far apart,
after all, it needs a perfect floor to walk on,
one that won’t fight back, one with no voice.
The world says, “Dream big, you’ll do great things one day,”
But it lies, and it knows it.
It just wants to prepare its youth for one big fantasy world,
so that when the axe cuts through the wood, there is still color,
the colors of hope, ambition, and dreams.
It just uses these as decoration,
meaningless words of inspiration carved in everything in sight.
The ones who hold the colors are displayed as false signs for the youth,
the youth that just wants to make a difference, that doesn’t want to be a floorboard,
that want their voices to be heard, that does’t want to be walked on.
That think they have a voice.
The world says they do,
but one creak or groan, they are snapped in half,
thrown out the window, burned, and replaced.
The world doesn’t care who it walks on and who fails,
it doesn’t care what the youth wants,
it actually doesn’t care about anything it says it does.
It cares about its steps,
The flawless copies it uses to elevate its undeserving self.
It cares about its floors, making sure each floorboard is just what it wants to walk on.
It cares about its walls,
so much that it accepts all colors, so it can paint over them the color it wants.
It cares about its roof, the only thing hiding it from the power it fears may be above it,
so that it won’t have to look and see that a blade of grass knows of more remorse than it does.