It feels like a script
And we are the jesters
Blindly saying our lines
Standing where we are told to stand
Moving how we are told to move
When we are asked to jump
Most ask
‘How high?’
Few ask
‘Why?’
There is no room for improvisation in this play
We are booed off stage
If we say our own lines
Our own thoughts
Our own words
Booed by the masses
Who are in the same play we are
I just want to jump off stage
And run by the crowd
Out through the doors
And into the black night
With the rain pouring down
I want to stand in the middle of the street
And scream
But,
this is not my role.
-C.H.
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