I am not the creator of my morality
I am its slave
Walls building buildings block my intention
From blossoming into action
Handed down from others, placed there by others
The walls almost crush me while they fall
And it is as if I had no choice in the matter
As if inside me there is a moral code
Copied and pasted from my father
From the Bible, from the Founding Fathers
From the Constitution, from a Glenn Beck book
As a wall breaks and crumbles, so does a piece
Of my identity
See, what are we if not our identities?
That blonde heartbreak of a person was always right about that
She was just wrong about the validity of the morals
If morality is subjective, there is nearly no hope for existence
And if morality is not crafted intentionally, therein lies more nihilism
If I am a construction wholly of other people's opinions
Who am I really?
I am not the creator of my morality.
Parts of my identity have been taken out
Replaced by other walls
Other edifices that I think are stronger
But I had no choice in the matter.
Neither my deconstruction nor my upbringing
Were voluntary actions
Yet they matter the most in determining my actions
Therefore,
I am not the creator of my morality
I am its obedient slave
The mantra series of poems are meant to be short, and to speak larger truths. I was thinking about Mantra (three) today, and I felt like I had more to say. So I said it. In a poem. This one, actually.