Oppression

My beagles hate the pen;
freedom to roam, to be with their people,
commences the howl, the way I howl
inside when I need to be freed from
my cages, cages that exist in my mind,
that exist in the world around me,
cages that have locks made by conformity,
keys swallowed by the Kraken,
bureaucracy of higher ed,
rejection of personal history,
mundane-ocrity of loathsome jobs,
bitter partners.

If I slay the beast, I can gut him,
find the keys, and jump off the roof
for good.

Oppression is bad. Get it?

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