A girl named Creativity

We are not men and women

though we like to believe we are.

We are children stuffed into the bodies of 

"further evolved humans"

Full of preconcieved ideas

but robbed of curisity.

Pigeons told to fly

but struggling with limp wings.

Not at fault individually 

but the blame goes to society.

Witnesses to a homocide,

the death of a girl named creativity.

Taken in her youth and

beaten by conformity,

she screamed for us, she fought,

cries that fell on a deaf city.

Leaderless lemmings traveling blissfully to ignorance

Tag turned turmoil in an unfamiliar country.

Hark back to awe filled days

these eyes unwilling to fade.

But now is not the time,

 the grown ups have vome to play.