My hands are bound.
Shackled to expectations and predetermined dreams.

Living is mechanical.
What was once ours, is no longer ours.


Our society crafted faith, and fantasies, and this falsified idea of freedom,

and then they built a wall of glass between us and those things...

We can see them, seemingly in our hands

But they are no longer ours.


There is no creativity in expectations.

It’s dry.
You will graduate high school,

you will graduate college,

you will get a good job,

and marry.
Have children.

And then,

you will die.


Like the rest of them.
A slave.


And if you choose the path unpaved,

You are wrong.

If you stray from the plan,

You’re a failure.

A fraud.

The children are our future,
They are bound.
They are shackled.

What was once theirs is no longer theirs.
Set them free.

Set yourself free.