you know for a fact that you are corporeal,
that you and your arms and your legs are real.
you have hopes and dreams and aspirations
strong enough that not a soul could steal
what is held so tightly in your tiny hands,
mind whirring so quickly with unspoken plans.
but slowly, surely, they break you to pieces,
grind you to particles the size of sand
and you try to gather yourself to become whole once more
to follow the vision that resonated in your core,
but their words are too tiresome, bothersome, ruthless,
your muscles and mind too fatigued, too sore.
so you let yourself drip like melted wax down a candle,
your dreams now flimsy and useless as a cheap summer sandal.
holes, too big, too wide, poked in what is to be,
and all of it just becomes too much to handle.
so you make yourself smaller from the outside
and curl up your consciousness, deep, deep inside,
because all of them have convinced you that you should vanish
and by everyone else's rules, never your own, you always abide.