Puzzle Pieces

Everyday when I wake up, my first thought is not,

 “How can I make this day good?

How can I be a better person today?” but rather,

“how can I be a puzzle piece today?”

Everyday when I wake up,

 I compile the proteins of my head into some sort of caged animal,

 and force the monstrous pores on my face into a shelter

before the storm of crude judgement comes to whisk them askew.

Everyday when I wake up,

I do not get the chance to absorb even an atom of the sustenance I need on a daily basis

because I spent too much time trying to feast on the respite that I need to barely function

on the social standard of normalcy.

Everyday when I zoom up, down, left, and right through the hallways

 in the six minutes I have to get from point A to point B,

it is clear to me that this is the only true form of muscular nutrients I will receive in a day

because once I am given recess from the physical prison,

I have to attend the mental prison that cannot be completed in that godforsaken building.

Everyday when I sit behind a piece of wood,

I am told by the 7 gatekeepers of my agency that I can only be successful

 if and only if I pass the finish line of the 27 mile races each of them has designed—

and each gatekeeper insists that their race is more important than any others,

so I am left to decide whether or not I will run or walk or crawl through each mile,

through each race, everyday.

Everyday when I sit behind a piece of wood,

it is required of each gatekeeper that I request permission just to perform human functions—

even if there is blood dripping from a purposeful or accidental wound…

I must ask permission to tend to it,

or else the headmasters of the prison will accuse me of disrupting the pleasant torture of my fellow prisoners,

and insist that I was disrespectful to interrupt the most important lecture I will ever receive in my life. 

Forget that my insides might become my outsides any second now,

they want to instill their wisdom for a mere five minutes before anyone acts like a human.

Everyday when I sit behind a piece of wood,

the headmasters insist upon a certain uniform that is only applicable towards females,

because females are the only sexes capable of controlling their bodies,

and females cannot be a distraction to the males

otherwise the males will become malnourished

 and never aspire to be mathematicians, scientists, or engineers that will help our country advance

 in the race against other races to see who is the best at everything.

Everyday when I sit behind a piece of wood,

 not only do the headmasters and gatekeepers inflict endless misery,
but the prisoners show no mercy towards each other. 

If a prisoner has flawlessly forced their features into a guarded realm of pure normalcy

 then that only that prisoner can be accepted. 

If a prisoner joyfully embraces the expectations of the gatekeepers

then only that prisoner can be rewarded. 

If any prisoner does not aspire to the same adequacy

then that prisoner must be rejected and cast into the furnace

because “what use are they?” say the headmasters, the gatekeepers, and the prisoners.

Everyday when sit behind a piece of wood,

the prisoners ask me why I chose to be tortured with slower brute force

rather than with excruciating speed that makes me stronger everyday with each challenge,

and everyday my answer is,

“Why should I when my body already tortures itself

 by creating the wrong chemicals that prevent me

from even being capable of performing the most routine chores?

Why should I when I am already challenged enough?”

Everyday when I sit behind a piece of wood,

I hope and pray for a miracle that some extreme condition

 or some divine intervention of destruction

 will allow me to escape the mental and physical prison that has been created

to build me up and make me out to be the most successful being of the universe. 

The walls, the barriers of societal opinions,

the constant brain destruction that occurs repeatedly,

day after day…please, God, make it stop.

Everyday when I am released for recess,

 I cannot escape the mental prison that follows me home everyday.

 I cannot and will not return to prison the next day with unfinished business,

because I am better than that.   

I can’t even escape the prisons of my own head,

because once ensnared by the clutches of undesired knowledge…

the prisons in my head have no relevance.

Everyday when I am released for recess,

I look in the mirror and say to my shattered, defeated, lifeless reflection,

 “What did they do to you?”

and the distorted image responds with,

“I wasn’t a puzzle piece today.”