On Paper

By Shreya Singh

People can be whatever they want to be; We don’t force anyone, at least that’s what it says on paper We accept everyone; We don’t judge, at least that’s what it says on paper We treat everyone equally; we don’t discriminate At least that’s what it says on paper

Then why is it that some people are forced to be someone they don’t want to be? Why do they have to dream a certain dream to be appreciated? Why is that some people must be ashamed of themselves or hide who they truly are? Why is it that they are always told that they need to be smarter, thinner or prettier to be accepted? Why is it that some people must work twice the amount to gain the same award that others only have to work half the amount for? Why is it that they are discriminated just because they’re unique?

These lies on paper that we use to pretend that everything’s okay, these lies on paper that we oh so nonchalantly use, These lies on paper that we lie to ourselves with, These lies on paper are the reason our world is broken

We’ve used these lies for as long as we can remember; we did nothing to go against them We pass these lies to the next generation and the generation that follows; we do nothing to stop them We use these lies so that we can pretend to have a peaceful and happy life; we don’t acknowledge the pain that comes along with it These are the lies that tear us apart.

These lies on paper that we follow religiously, are stained with the blood, sweat and tears of so many Yet we pretend to be blind. Most of the victims of the pain caused by these lies are forced to abide by these lies to fit in, They suppress the voice inside their head telling them to be true to themselves and not give up, But most of the time the pain is too much.

These lies on paper are the reason our world is crumbling, Victims growing to be their own worst nightmares, The paper drowning in the blood, sweat and tears it caused being their only hope

But the paper doesn’t tear, each teardrop it absorbs adds a lie to the list Every drop of blood that stains it is disguised to look perfectly normal Every drop of sweat somehow adding to the need for the lies to exist We can stay silent and follow these lies for as long as possible, To create a perfect illusion But there will eventually, be a tipping point.

One day, the blame game won’t work anymore For no one will be innocent Everyone will be a victim, Everyone will be an oppressor And what happens after that is something better left unknown

By Shreya Singh