Poem Number Seven

7.

bruised,
bruised are my dreams and hopes
living in desert lands
they're drying up to nothing
but ruffles, dusty ribbons
laced with sand illusions

bruised,
are my thoughts and words
by society's chokehold
rules, laws, norms
"don't swear! don't think!
don't be a person,
just lie down and bleed your ink
(just shush)."

"be like us
not them, god forbid
like us

they are them,
strangers
you are us."

and i want to shout,
"NO!"

i want to cry,
"i am me
not you,
not them,
me."

but i keep silent
gathering my bruises dream
my pretty dream bruised
growling in my chest, within my fist
giving in
into my desert land
and heart,
"you are us
you are us."

and i
give in