Barricading our creativity and emotion
they stand
As tall as our dreams
And as vague as our goals

Amplifying the feeble ground
they stand
Constructing our world
Limiting our thought
Cubing our flexibility
Opposing our expansion

Confiscating our will
they stand
Recording our gesticulations
Blocking our share of vitamin D
and separating us from 
the two feet of non-institutionalized world we drool over
the pieces of dirt we worship
and the vitamin D we necessitate

The ethereal tale of the walls commemorating our stories
are nothing but that:
ethereal.

The romanticized story told from an optimistic mouth 
filtered through your optimistic ear is
failing to optimize reality in your unconscious
and yet,
we have chosen our sixth sense to be
“imaging transparency”
The power that they posses is already of damage to us
but still we give
We are generous like that
We dare to assume the assumption of the walls around us
speaking
Sound boiling in their dry,
concrete,
hard throats as they prepare to vocalize their feelings
“their”, “feelings”
Two words that will add to their possessions

Slowly they weaponize their infant words
and their chapped lips manage to make a sound
and the pressure is building
and the world is watching
and the anticipation is brutal

and then,
Clamor Commotion Tumult Upheaval Noise
The constructed world becomes a cinema
and the whole world is watching and don’t you dare 
look away from this because it was a movie
you paid to see
it was a topic fascinating enough
to draw you in and
now that you are in
there is nothing but commotion

The barricades are talking!
The amplifiers are roaring!
The confiscators are chaotic!

and it was all because the trap of a romantic story
had you upside down all the while.