I’m restricted by your voices.
I can’t breathe, I can’t hear, I can’t see.
No, I can do all of these things.
But now I am at the top of my lungs, yelling,
Gleaming into the sun with my own eyes.
I am trying to be! Is it wrong?
To everyone around me, yes it is.
They want me confined to my room. No noise.
No loud music. No nothing.
I have to stick to this schedule, or I am wrong.
My mother and my sister think very little of me.
My brothers don’t want me around, I know it.
I am all alone in this world.
So I write, and I dream that I may some day be better.
I have habits that I need to quit. So this is just a free verse.
No point. No rhythm. This is no sonnet.
I am Brandon Mecella Carey Walker, and all I want to do
is live. Not that life is hard, but I know that I am not free.
I am free to do as I can within the confines of this Great Nation.
But aside from those lines, I appear to be nothing but an eye-soar.
As if I am now everyone’s problem. But can’t they fend for themselves?
The truth is that my service record is not the shiniest of them all.
But that’s seven years of my life, so what have you done for your country?
As of late. . . .