There is a seed planted deep within us,
One that is constantly trapped,
Deep within our subconscious,
And for those observant enough to catch it, a feeling of being trapped.

It's directly in our face,
No matter where we go.
Inside every public place,
Even in your home.

But it doesn't have to be,
That they control both you and me.
You can strike down this tree
And avoid becoming another mindless zombie.

Celebrate your individuality,
And make sure that everyone sees,
Is that the last thing the human race needs.
Is another  Borrachero tree spreading its filthy seeds.

I am a feminist.
I am also male.
I'm not trying to be anyone's protagonist,
Just trying to tell my tale.

I learned the definition of feminism and ever since,
I've been trying to give my 2 cents.
Listen not to the media's claim,
For their feminists are not even in name.

I see no reason for such separation.
This sexist discrimination can only lead to societal degradation.

So if you believe more in the importance of ability than beauty,
Regardless of ***, you can join the feminist side with me.

I found a mask in my attic.
It was just laying there.
It's rather erratic,
finding a mask somewhere.

There was a note attached.
It read 'One size fits all; one per person'.
So, after I had my fill of my head being scratched,
I decided to try to wear this mask void of emotion.

But it did not fit.
With my confusion awoken,
I could not wear it,
Despite what the note had spoken.
I assumed it to be broken.

But upon closer inspection,
I made a detection.
The space of the mask had been taken,
By something much more potent.
Leaving me less then content.

You're my Zyxythine.
Beautiful,
Serene,
Tranquil,
My best friend,
My only care,
The only trend,
My breathless air.
And, much like the word that describes you,
A product of my imagination.

I sit here inside,
With my chair and my book,
I sit here and hide,
Hoping someone will look.
They never do though.
All of them avoiding my fortress,
never bothering to show,
And here I shall continue to repress.
Turning the chapter in my book of life,
And remembering the frustration,
As well as the strife,
That led to the construction of my prison.

It was an old time,
One filled with dirt and grime,
When a man was put on the gallows,
In the towns ***** shallows.

They sat in the hay,
In this city of gray,
None of them capable of knowing,
The tragic irony of this showing.

Once the man was hanged on the scene,
The scene became obscene.
All the people lost track,
As their world faded to black.

I made a wrong turn,
On a racecar track,
And I don’t think I can learn,
How to find my way back.

Everyone went left,
But with a motion so deft,
I discovered with a fright,
That I was going right.

What was down this way I could not have known,
Though somehow I know that I will be shown,
Through upcoming strife,
I shall improve my life.
-----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------
I found my way back,
To the old racecar track,
Though I feel this was unwise,
Because they demand my demise.

All too late I realize,
That diversity they do not advise,
And my wrong turn for which I will burn,
Is not the right turn,
But the decision to return.