When the inkwell dries and my fire turns to steam I put my head down to scraped the hollow inside of my shell-
I am empty.
My worth is measured by contribution and potential, my opinions considered only when I can prove my agreement-
I am not the same.
If I am young, If I am liberal, If I am willing to compromise; I am weak. I have no more will to fight it-
I am insubstantial.
They take and take, my freedoms ripped from me, my beliefs mocked and opposed without reason-
I have nothing left to give.