Rules

Written in a moment of angst and frustration the evening after my English teacher said to me, "Since when did you become so socially conformist?"
Good question.
This poem is a small token of my own and other people confusion and a bit of a confrontation at the way in world society conforms us but makes us feel as though we are doing what WE WANT.

I just want to go back
to when nothing mattered.
To when it was only the trees who cared
whether you’d fall or not.
Not yourself or what you think to be yourself.

I just want to go back
and remember who I REALLY AM.
The angry talk-back, shut up, stand tall, tower over
boom
of existence
that’s only 10 years old.

I just want to go back and feel
the real me.
Know exactly what I want.
A bag of crisps, a gold star or
that perfect pebble the other side of the river
that if flung correctly
would skim and skip and hop across to
the other side.
The place no one else would go
but I did.

I just want to go back to where no rules existed.
No talking, no swearing, no shouting out
are rules easily broken; non-exsitent.
It’s the rules I let seep in
and crawl under my skin
that haunt me so much and make me believe
that they’re not rules at all
they’re the real me.

They’re not.
They’re not me.
They’re not you.
They’re not even themselves.
They’re just...there
ready to trick us, ready to trip us,
ready to laugh and watch us
 fall.

But then we find them.

That’s when they get scared.
That’s when you get scared.
That is when we grow.

Find them, trick them, trip them
laugh.
Something they cannot do
but you can.

You don’t need to go back.
You don’t need to remember.
You just need to do.

Fight against them.

Something that no one else will do
but I will.

The End

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