They lied to us.
Every lesson of our upbringing,
so full of ulterior motive,
of instilling in us the tools required
to lie again to our own.

We lie to ourselves.
Disquieted thoughts,
dismissed with a drilled discipline
driven deep into deadening drudgeries of a dying desire
to denounce, to dare, to dream.

It’s all a lie.
Consider this my deconstruction,
stripping back the parts in place,
exposing the wicker bones of this foundation,
this societal full monty.

Bare on bare, let me taste the world anew,
have the sunlight bite my pasty flesh
and sting my eyes with the sharpness of colour,
bring bombardment of sound about my ears,
but sing not upon my swollen tongue the sourness of servitude.


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