Force

Force. 
Forced to wake up each morning. Forced to get dressed and leave the house. Forced to step onto the crowded bus and walk past those people you were forced not to talk to anymore.
Forced to take the underground train to school. Forced to go to class, to sit, to listen, to go to class, to sit, to listen, and repeat. Forced to complete assignments, to answer questions, to learn. Forced to write essays and reports, to take tests, to let them judge you on their flimsy piece of paper...

We are forced to live.

Me, though. I am forced.
I am forced to walk past it everyday. To remember. I am forced to think about it, to confront the thoughts I'm hiding from.
I'm forced to smile when told to nod on cue to agree and move on. 
I don't agree, I don't.
But what's that silly little word that follows? Force.

I was forced to lose something I didn't want to lose and grow up, fast. I was forced to keep quiet about those bruises in the past. I was forced to say this, to say this, to say that. But fucking force can't control what I think about that. 


We're forced onto the platforms, one-by-one, pushed to the edge. We fall a step lower and our knees bleed, gravel and dirt ground in. We're forced down one more level, two more levels, three.
We're forced and forced until we're so close to the bottom that they don't have to force us anymore. We look up at the dark layers above us, no more light seeping in than comfort, and we step off the edge blindly, hardly caring what we hit when we fall.

We're forced to live until we're forced to die, and they say, you know, that that's supposedly life.
But life should be choice, should be freedom.
Freedom is courage to climb back up.

My hands are shredded.
I can't.