Pressure

Do or be done.

Run or be run over.

Shoot or be shot.

A black sheep in the midst of bleached minds

all programmed to act without question,

reaching out their ashen tentacles that drip with tears unshed,

for the person they swore they would never become

now embodies their very being.

The sheep, upon rejecting that milky coat of coercion,

is trampled

by the blunt force of nature itself.

Haven’t you learnt, sweetie?

Kill or

be killed.

What spectacles we make

out of ourselves every day

just to feel embraced

even if the embrace is slowly strangling us

to death.

Pressure.

What a funny thing it is indeed.

14 thoughts on “Pressure

  1. This poem left me speechless, and as soon as I finished it, had me staring at the wall, rethinking my life and everything I’ve done to be seen as different, yet to be accepted. Now, I’m just really confused.
    This is definitely one of my favourite poems out of the ones I’ve read in a while, I’ll have to say. Powerful.

    Liked by 2 people

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