The game we’re all playing,
Already has set boundaries.
Pre-existing narratives of our ancestors,
Who, like us, had taken up life as ******.
Gleaming starry eyes,
At buildings with flashing lights,
Cogged in a social machine of enterprise,
Thinking materials could replace the intangible,
A vase does not stir conversation,
Like a car does not run without fuel,
But neither feel, neither breathe,
Neither can be wild or free.
We hold the liberty to run from routine,
And still we place ourselves in toxic relationships,
And wasteful jobs, and humiliation,
Our need for consistency is not picky,
We would rather hold onto passed-down habits,
Then be alone, then create alone, build alone,
Are we born with this fear, too?