As They Stir the Melting Pot
Hardboiled
Poetry
 
They say this great country is a wonderful melting pot… Tell me why then, I want to be free. The jail bars are made up of labels, I hold and try to break. I train everyday, an animal, As I silently walk the line between life and death. And if I get past the first defenses, I have one chance to reach the surface. Everyone walks believing their own façade. The Chief Wardens composed of maggots and blood clots. And he tosses us headfirst into the pot, which is composed of plastic and full of snot. The tags sprout hands that throttle necks and grab like an anaconda. Then they pull you down. Conform or die. We’re all free… free to drown. so if you break from your steel shackles made up of labels, and escape the prison, you’ll still likely drown. Arms flail around the melting pot, As the thick liquid chokes you without a sound. And soon the labels overwhelm. You’re too short, too nice nice, too young, and too odd. Or you’re too slow, too uncoordinated, or too plain. You may struggle to grasp the edges, as the light soothes, then they grab you in your weakened state, and force you back into the slop with their foot on your face. The anomalous ingredients should have been picked out and found, Then tossed into the garbage full of scraps long ago. You have the liberty to suffer. Here come people in unblemished white suits. They throw more labels into the pot. Sometimes they don’t have time to cook up new labels, so they just reuse the same old rotting cards. So look yourself in the mirror, You’ll see the juices bubbling under your skin. It’s the same label stew that fills the pot, and I’m so broken I want to be one of them. Compete till you die. I suppose apathy is the key, In order to just breathe. So let me finally don my white suit of armor, grab my label gun, and get to labeling. So be your price tag as your worth projects on you, and really… You don’t matter to me. You too can be free to drown others. 
Now I have a labelingcivilizedphilosophicalcritical Western mind, why on earth would people want to crack our pot? It’s so beautiful, just to strike it would be a crime. Calling all blue collar criminals, terrorists, the poor and forgotten, You’re all eligible to die. Praise all the pretty, prissy, beautiful, apathetic people who stir the great melting pot while smoking their own form of pot. Get high on yourself. I’ll treat with cordial nonchalance, “Other” marking people want to be free right? Then you are free to go around all night, to be in the nice warm melting pot. So answer all my questions, It’s really not your choice. You might as well turn in an application, Cause I don’t necessarily need to hear your voice. And as you grab the gleaming stem and begin stirring, ignore that part of you that says, I want to be free But when the scarred puss ridden hand breaks the surface of the pot taking you by your throat as you gasp and your eyes protrude in surprise… Realize it is your own hand.