I can’t remember when everything changed. When humanity somehow evolved beyond us and harnessed power unlike we’d ever seen. When someone who was nobody somehow got the right to lock us in cages and have at it with any experiment they wished. It’s like we don’t even exist. Not technically, not to them. Just masses of flesh and unwelcome thought.

I can’t remember my name. Well, I can, but not properly, not like I should. But names don’t matter here. Numbers do and people don’t. I don’t know what I should think of that but they don’t care, I shouldn’t be allowed to think.

Age is relative. I can remember my age - just another number. But I’m smart enough to know that this number’s important. Because as soon as there’s another just as I was, they won’t need me anymore. But for all it’s worth, age has no other meaning. Here, we live for today and die for tomorrow, it’s a pattern that’s collapsed on us, suffocating until there’s only enough time to breath once before it’s our last.

I’m a recluse now. I don’t speak. My thoughts are choppy because I barely think. No, that’s a lie. I think a lot. That’s all I do. Think, contemplate, and observe.
Words. What use are words when no one listens to them? I haven’t spoken in months and even if I could, there are no words. My throat is raw and silent where my mind is numb and screaming from it’s twisted logic. Sometimes I want to die. But I won’t, because they won’t let me. I’m too important, here for the cause. We’re all here for the cause.

Try as we must
The stone will prevail
For we are but sand
On this solid veil

Built a cage in a cage
as an olive branch for
those who wouldn't call her an animal,
but won't call her a person.
Built a metaphor to slay her sister,
like trying to walk while hammering
your own toes;
hobbled herself to the master's home,
and played with the master's playthings,
and ate the master's food,
and received the hard end
of the master's humor
with a smile.

We are misinformed creatures-
A bird with wings to fly, but no destination.
A wildcat that hunts only to ****.
A serpent poisoned by it's own venom.

She traded hands to beat herself to death;
died with wrists broken,
lacy finger bones strewn across her throat.
No melody on her tongue.
Nobody dying to meet her.
Nobody is dying to meet us.

And so I spend my days
Wallowing in the contempt
I believed for so long
I had run away from.
I am constantly at fault with myself;
Teasing and tearing at my arteries
Though I am blessed with the peace
I fought so hard to know.
I am the goddess.
I find myself under the thumb of the world
Though I am the superpower,
The educated one
Who could overcome.
But I am barely an adult and
I am seldom believed in
Outside of The Legend of Zelda games.

Daylight fades too quickly
and leaves you struggling like a dead fish
against a time limit you have no intention
of keeping or realizing, in even a small fashion.
The money runs out.
The money always runs out and
everyone is looking for a handout
no one wants to give.
Especially those who can afford it-
it's like a void;
a golden density not even light can escape.
Makes me wonder; "Is the money really power,
or is power just power,
and the hierarchy and patriarchy and system
just keep whatever stains in place, despite their incompetence?"
History seems to provide ample answers to the right questions;
Why does the day feel so short?
Why does retail labor feel like a pyramid scheme?
Why does work feel like prison?
Why are employers so scared of unions?
Whatever, right? Those ******* would give you an answer
after three separate commercial breaks and a survey.

Everyone views the person under their foot as less than human.
It's how we're able to procreate and sleep at night
[a night that comes quicker every day now].
A curtain over a birdcage; we're all just dozing off.
******* around.
Studying everyone else's face,
looking for a nervous twitch to decipher
whose bluffing,
believing we're doing swimmingly in our own *******.
The next generation built on our corpses, secrets and lies.
Corpses, secrets, and lies.
Let the world burn if we can make it past daylight.

I grew up in suburbia-
With picket fences as white as the faces
Who say they're godly enough to save babies
(As long as they're not queer)
Because we don't have to live with the fear
Of corpses lining the sidewalks
Of our perfectly landscaped yards
We have no guards firing on peaceful protestors
Because our children are filed into orderly lines
Laid out for them at birth
But for what it's worth, we teach them of racism
From a white textbook that lies about founding fathers
Where segregation is just a word and
Oppression is hardly even mentioned.
Our children, who play at the age of 6
And lose their innocence at the age of 16
Suburbia is a life of it's own,
Gangly arms and legs
Like the teenagers who starve themselves
And steal their parents liquor
Just to get drunk quicker
Ignorant of those on the streets dying of hunger
No wonder I yearn to be far from this hell I call home.

Allen Ginsberg once said
“America I’ve given you all and now I am nothing”
The Wonder Years once said
“Suburbia I’ve given you all and now I am nothing”
But I’ve found fallacies in both of these,
I feel it’s more like
Suburbia I’ve given you all
And now I’m an awkward 20 year old
Who doesn’t know how to talk to black people
Suburbia I’ve given you all
And now I’m way too confident walking around the city at night
Because I forget there are communities
Where people actually have to lock their doors,
Suburbia I’ve given you all
And now I have a 16 year old brother
Who thinks the word *** and **** jokes are funny
Suburbia I've given you all
And now my father hates that I'm for gender equality
Well dear daddy,
I hope this offends you.

Because I am offended
By a community that tells **** victims they were asking for it
I am offended by a community
That tells my best friend Liam
That he's just confused, that
His love for Adam is an abomination
I am offended by a community
That offers equality as thinly veiled oppression,
With houses decorated in the decadence of degradation,
All the while their perfect sons and daughters
Are dying of depression because
The hilt of a gun is so much quicker
Than the drugs of their addiction

Suburbia, you are the seed of suicide
Feeding off of your violent silence,
Your white fences slice our tongues
And leave us mindless.
Suburbia, you have betrayed us.
Taught us ignorance is bliss with
Algebra instead of how to do taxes,
Spent more time worried about
Girls' shoulders instead of *** education,
Taught me not to speak unless
My hand was raised as if praise
Is given to authority without question,
Funny how they forgot to mention
Our country was founded on rebellion.

But suburbia, I forgive you
And so I humbly ask of you,
Find the keys of compassion within the heart and
Shed the lock of ignorance that grips your mind
The door may be rusted but it can open with time
Suburbia, I beg of you
Join us in the war of love
Let us all raise our fists and
Paint peace signs on our wrists,
We are disobedient dandelions swaying in the sun,
Words of kindness rolling off our tongues
Like pacifistic shots of a gun
Firing respect instead of rounds
And burying hate instead of bodies in the ground.

Seventh Grade.
I wrote a poem about a solider
who couldn't unsee all the damage
wrought on his friends and brothers.
My mother cried.
Asked, “what have I done?
For you to write such
despairing things?”

Eighth Grade.
My English teacher tried to
“Harness” my talent,
in the raw.
Pushed me into competitions
Of which I had no interest.

Freshman Year.
I got accused of plagiarism.
After all,
What could I possibly know
of the world's tragedies,
after a mere 14 years spent here?
I was told to “stick to something
a 14-year-old girl would right. So
it isn't obvious.”

Sophomore Year.
I wrote about
the boy who held my heart.
Because that's what
15-year-old girls write about.
Or so I've been told.