An organised mess

Slave

A slave to the norms 

It is not written, but it is right 

Cover my vision, make the handcuffs tight

A slave to the acceptable 

I will work once I have left school, there are no might's 

Everyone has to do it, do not put up a fight 

A slave to the expected 

No words, but the eyes say it all 

How have you not brought your house?

Do you not save it all? 

A slave to 'proper' behaviour 

I must stay committed to my role 

I've adapted to a way of life which everyone knows

Despite no one ever being told 

A slave to the predictable 

I am a daughter, a friend, a girlfriend 

each of my roles has designated stages 

defying the predictable progression 

objects against society's predictable phases

the unwritten rules 

the ropes tied so tight they've turned red 

conforming for order 

normal is only a concept 

they have drummed into our heads. 

I was stitched into the cloth they constructed 

I had my own ideas abducted

They probed at me, as I ripped the stitches out my skin 

they pointed me to the right direction 

spiked-collar 

my name-tag, chosen-name, with my black lead 

they influenced 

they directed 

they cut the choices slice by slice 

they did not guide me

they took me 

and rejected 

the very whisper of the cursed word a dream. 

I wallowed in my cage, 

and once the spectating audience glanced away, 

and I picked up my notebook 

and I wrote a poem, 

a slave only when they are watching, 

I never needed a round of applause, 

just a crowd who clapped acceptance.