An Ode To Misery and Conformity

An Ode To Misery and Conformity

A Poem by Ally

My prose rant about life in general.


I’m sick of everyone telling me that because of my age, I don't know anything. I know things. I know that pi is 3.14159. Not everything but some things.  Life is not rainbows and unicorns. It’s full of ridiculous rich raisers and murders. We live in a world where my name and anger are synonymous. My name, by the way, is spelled with 2 L’s. Not one. Two. If you spell it wrong, I will correct you, with a murderous smile and dead eyes.

I hate being told I’m wrong on subjects I know I’m right about. Especially regarding politics. Politics politics politics. Where did we go wrong? Slimy senators are still in office slithering sexist laws across the table. It's about time we stop telling woman what we can and can’t do with our own bodies. Even this election has become a bubonic rat race with The Vulgar Talking Yam and The Liar. No, Mom, he talks out of his a*s and would lead this country into world war 3, 4 and 10 all for the sake of steaks, stocks, and celebrity. He’s the epitome of corporate gluttony. He stands for everything this country should be against, but is everything that we are. We’re mowing over the middle man and moving money towards the truants in tailored suits. Just another glorious day in capitalism.

Even the colleges are crapping against the blue-collared workers children. The audacity to ask for an atrocious amount of money from broke teenagers to try and pay before they roll-over. We spend thirteen years of our lives auditioning to lose one-hundred thousand of our little livelihood.

The school system supports the slam on our society. They culture it, swaddle it, strengthen in. We break our backs, boil our brains, and bend over and sob What's the point? over an 89 or a goddamn class participation grade. I’m so sick of sitting in spanish scribbling on word searches. I’m so sick of notebook quizzes and I’m beyond sick of writing s****y poems when I know I’m no goddamn poet. I’m so sick of the sycophants in the school system who kiss a*s to their boss and kick and murder their students all for the sake of a sixty cent incentive. The gunshots we hear in the morning across the street predict our lives for the next years to come.

The teachers aren't the only ones who murder our confidence. We do it to each other. With backstabs and two murderous smiles and comments about our extracurriculars. We s**t shame then stargaze wishing we were like them. We wish we were promiscuous. We wish we were reserved. We wish we were raunchy. We wish we were demure. We all wish we were what were weren't and we weren't what we were. We stalk the halls haughty and heated, angry at the world, looking for an excuse to lash.

Adults buy toys for themselves and kids race to grow taller, wear heels, and grow beards. Kids are forced to conform and by adulthood we’re black and white and grey copies in the workplace.

We do have it hard. We go to get good grades and then work for another six hours just to go back home and break our brains over busy work brought upon by the very same people who can’t even be bothered to remember your name.

Life is hard when the world turns against you. When society is against you. Adults blame you, kids are afraid of you, your peers hate you. You hate yourself. Being a teenager is hard especially when you're forced to do calculus with a book brain, write essays on rogue remembrances with skills for science, play in gym with a musical mind. Society’s the same. Ladies are loved for keeping their legs closed though you sit with a V. Men are supposed to be an impenetrable wall, though you cry. Forcing to conform. Killing kindergartners creativity, murdering middle schoolers imagination, stabbing senior’s slovenly stimulations so that by the time we’re thirty, we cattle-led casualties of battle.   Life is a never ending circle of passion, misunderstanding, and murder. We walk as quiet as killers and stab our friends in the sternum for our self gain. Life starts as a kindergartner and ends in the classroom so we're left walking as a ghost through adulthood.

© 2016 Ally

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on August 4, 2016
Last Updated on August 4, 2016
Tags: politics, prose poems, names, corporate gluttony, college, college deb, school, nonconformity, conforming



Living Alone Living Alone

A Story by Ally