What does it mean to be trapped?

To feel spied on, never ignored.

Under constant surveillance,

Disproportionate scrutiny,

 Excessive judgement.

The lament in those eyes,

To see me.

Oh, the forced manners.

The false kindness,

For the sake of public spectacle.

But I see the clear hypocrisy—

the debacle in those few seconds of privacy.

You corrupt your manners.

You act like a queen.

With that lame superiority.

Your insecurity dethrones you.

It’s your cue.


©Ana P. Rose & Anaprose 2017.

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