UnRed

So I won't understand your truth because I'm 40 years    
your senior. Like I haven't worn your designer labels, hair,  
fake nails, or lying tendencies squeezed between my teeth?    
   
Listen, a pattern you won't remember starting is like a street    
winding its way in Life through a neighborhood you wished    
you could've skipped (but are glad you didn't when you're    
   
my age). It's where cousins in striped bell-bottoms    
congeal to inhale cigarettes lifted from parents, drink    
MD 20/20 and talk about music, marijuana and sex.    
   
It's when you fail to relate to experience so pretend.    
It's when covering the truth of virginity with a lie becomes    
more important than hiding your menstrual cycle.      
   
A pattern you can't control becomes a conservative junior    
high splintering the brick and mortar of expression    
into thick shards of repression. It's donning a hood    
   
that's not red with an empty basket so the smell    
of scared doesn't reveal the location of the deepest    
recesses of hope & imagination. It's realizing too late    
   
the cabin you've reached has no lock to hold you out,    
and the person in bed bears no camouflage because    
they're not ashamed of how they've evolved. Its realizing    
   
your fate is to survive alone with a wolf, four walls, and no    
escape route. Listen...sheep “[forced to] keep company    
with wolves [must] learn to howl” or be eaten alive.    
   
Is that about right? Consider this and repeat to yourself,  
"I will never apologize to anyone for how I chose to survive."    
   
~