This loop,

This constant loop that circles and circles,

This loop that will never stop all the hurt it brings upon people,

This loop that begins with the lies,

The lies that everything is perfect,

That nothing is amiss,

That everyone believes in.

They feed you this information,

These falsehoods,

And you eat them up,

Spoon by spoon,

Bite by endless bite,

Until it is you that is the feeder,

Until those lies are all that you know.

And anything,

Anything at all,

Any minor, minute nuisance that tries to poke a hole in your little bubble is thrown away,

Shoved into a box and left to rot in a dark, dank closet,

Where it is unseen,

Unheard,

Forgotten,

Invisible.

But beyond your bubble,

The bubble that hides the rest of the world,

Where the unseen and unheard, the forgotten and invisible are,

Much is amiss,

Nothing is perfect,

Because beyond that affluent world you gladly lock yourself in things are not what you learned,

Not the lies you gladly ate up.

Because "across the tracks" are the slums,

The poverty,

The segregated,

The neglected,

The minorities,

The ugly side of America,

The side you hid and threw into your dark dank closet,

The side you chose to forget about,

The invisible side.