My whole being is summed up on a clarification.
I have to justify movement, improvement, intent
To change how I am, because ‘there’s always room to be better’
My free mind was a burden I was taught to ignore,
Whatever didn’t fit the frame was anarchy, self-righteous, deluding, wrongly pursuing,
A life that isn’t supposed to be lived.
Because we are taught how to live.
We are told how to survive,
We don’t gain if we think with our own mind.
We are useless pursuers.
A hippy, uneducated brand.
For all the numbers in certificates, and words we can write with now non-existing grants.
Because you only learn in a class room.
Through pen and paper, in a 4 walled tomb.
All the experience you need is from others’ pasts.
Just imitate what is format, normal and correct.
I am life
I am words
I am human
I dictate my own format of living, creating, being
You are false
You are forceful
You try to domineer a dictated worth,
And I’m sorry you’ve had to think that’s all your own life is worth.
But (I tell you what) you can speak when not spoken to
You can be heard when running through
A stream of people who have their minds made up for themselves (but not by themselves?)
Don’t dictate, subtly educate
The idea you can think
And ignore a dynamic that is so demanding.
Rip the guidelines up
Scream in public
Touch that hot pan so you know for yourself
To experience life
It’s a scientific (not god) given wealth
Weena is a Bristol-based artist, feminist and garlic enthusiast. This is her first poem for Nichts.