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Sep 2012
My tie was straight,
My suit was clean,
And my hair was neatly combed.
I entered the car
Complete with parents
Desperately feeling alone.

My mom spoke words
I could not hear,
Over the sound of her natural nag.
I would never tell her,
I could never tell her,
How she could be such a hag.

Her controlling ways,
Her pessimistic view,
How she will always nip and pick.
And when I argue,
Even just a little tad,
She makes me to be the ****.

I am sworn to a book,
Bound with leather
To serve it with my life.
Although I doubt it,
I don’t believe that
It will cause more than strife.

It caused pain,
It caused suffering,
As it spread across the masses.
But truly it failed,
The Way is torched,
By those heinous *******.

But I will suffer through,
A life of monotony,
For it is the only life I know.
This life is mine,
This cross is mine,
To put on a happy show.

I will smile at people,
I will pass through
As people scoff at me.
I will never tell them,
That my religion
Is actually killing me softly.
Makana Queja
Written by
Makana Queja  Alaska
   --- and Roxanne Marquette
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