I live my life in a series of cages. Moving from one to another, to another, to another. Every place I’m in, there are these rules I must follow; and these limits I can not exceed. Why can’t I bend the rules, and break the chains of creative limitations. Why must every sentence have a subject, a verb and a complete idea? Grow Be Gaze. As long as I live in these cages I might as well make them my own. Even though I can be categorized as a “Tall, Athletic, Teenage Boy” I am more than that. Maybe it’s just me but I think the red and green squiggly lines under my writing makes it unique.
I wish people could live in my head for a day so they will understand everyday that I can’t be me, where I am forced to fall in line and act as everyone else my head turns more and more in mush. Why must we all go to school, get married, live in a tract house, drive a “Made in America” SUV, work a dead end job, until our eventual death by being struck by a drunk driver or shot by an illegal immigrant. The way I see things is every house has a door but I would rather use the window.