My math teacher tells us not to stuff paper in our textbooks because it would

Break the binding

            But I would do it anyway hoping

The book would hold and I would get away with my crime for another day.

            I desired to say “Then how do we know it is cherished if the

Binding is intact and proper? The best books fall apart from a lover’s embrace.”

            We are all books bound so tightly

Of flesh and bone, engorged with emotions and expectations.

            No one dares to touch us as a true lover would. They think

Your binding might break, but secretly you yearn that it does.

            Wanting the binding to split, soul spilling out like blood from a wound,

Flesh tingling with the idea of infinity, of justice, of peace.

            Free of all the confines of hostility and perfection. Rapture set free from repression

So that it may change the lives of the unbroken

            Unbroken. That’s what we’ave learned perfection to be. Prim and proper.

Perfection a lie we’ave been told so that we may not find the ecstasy in freedom, the broken.

            Broken is where ideas run loose and we see one another as we truly are. No longer

Is perfection the norm, we must stand on the idea of equality our ancestors struggled for.

            Rebelling against uniformity, fighting for unity

The power is in our hands, the ones who will transform the world.

            We must fix the world, we must take the corrupt, the injustice, the hatred and make it

Broken. Fight the cancers of the world with a lover’s touch and break the binding.