Day 94 of 100 Poems/100 Days

Anthem

The streets of the city
stretch out like a protest,
wrapping me in its arms,
whispering,
holding me down,
pulling me close.
It says: “You’re not who you are.”

I’ll cut it down,
even if I have to cut myself.

To be free of the strangers’ land!
To be a man with no restraint,
no reason,
just a child,
with a gun in the hand,
pointing it carelessly,
at the crowd, its passerbys,
at even my heavy head.

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