The World Is My Oyster

They tell me that the world is
my oyster but I often wonder
to myself: is it really?
They ask me to spread my wings
wide and just fly, letting nothing
weigh me down; but haven’t they
seen that my wings are clipped
and their own droning voices
rest heavily on my shoulders,
pulling me down from the sky
that they say is limitless?
And don’t they see that I do not
want to get lost in an endless
expanse of the sky, where I
would find no escape from them,
and which is crowded with a
million others that they have
subtly forced into a restricted flight?
And don’t they see that all I
now want is to drown in the
peaceful serenity that the ocean
offers, where the sun rises from
and sinks into and where the
sky meets the earth?
But they never did know
how to let go, and they have me
so beat that succumbing to the
blue waters is beyond what I’m
capable of anymore and so I
let them pull my strings and
let them fly me like a kite and
let them tell me that the
world is my oyster and just
quietly wonder to myself:
is it really?