Title of Poem

How informal should we dress our emotions? A sweater and jeans? A faded shirt and jeans? A sweatshirt and jeans? A muscle shirt and jeans? Ohh the question remains still. Like the object at rest, with no force interested enough to act upon it. How should we do up this feeling or that? Do we think of these words as anything comparable to the great architects of our inspirations? Do our words create two roads? Are they to speak nevermore? Do they sit upon a black bough? I should hardly think so my friends. I should hardly think so. We are but grubs. . . who were lucky enough to catch the crumb scrubbed off a teacher's desk while he -or she- fervently read aloud the words that impassioned them to express their thoughts. Yes my friends. . . we have been beaten, raped, tortured, bullied, left alone and other horrible deeds. Yes I too hurt for some unfathomable reason. Like the confused and scared meal worm who is squished under the boots of fantastic creatures called humans, who don't feel a thing. But for god's sake lets try to cut our strings. and fly farther into the atmospheres of our minds with our thoughts. Lets see the world for falling leaves and sloth like clouds. Lets not be so. . . so . . . oh whats the word. . .