“Bliss”
I don't want to know,
I want to know
Wait, don't tell me
I want to find out
I want to find out who created the gears of the machine
Each intricate cog and wheel that decided that depending on who it is
a human life could be no big deal.
Each tooth of metal that entwined with another
of all shapes and sizes that decided they were ones
that get to choose how beautiful I am.
Who inspected the finished product?
Going over each part and their worth
Throwing away the parts that didn't work
looking at my bronzed edges
confirmed them to be rust
Stripped me from the machine and left me to gather dust.
Who built this?
This machine with this pristine exterior
coated in gloss
While the insides are rotting
Not knowing the mechanism they run
Content with playing their part
never looking any closer
not searching for answers
Too afraid to ask the real questions
that will strip their veins of their ignorance
pumping their organs with compliance
and instead clothe it in knowledge
until they break free of the machine
and wrap themselves in defiance.