The Climbing Frame.

We condescend and are arrogant to the people we love too easily and obedient and dutiful to the people we hate who deserve so little less. Hatred and hierarchy have twisted your sadness and hatred into the shadow of something you call love and made your love hide in a darkened closet and scream out in your dreams where no one can see them. This is all well beyond having tattooed with a knife across your spine all the things you assume you care for or think are buried beneath the skin of your underside where no one can read them. Up here we mount the climbing frame of time and with things that last that little bit too long at least we have a better understanding of them. Sunshine in out own time makes years of rain welcome and even seems to make sense.

We make our way up monkey ropes, which should be ours, and equality of opportunity is to be on the higher end of the pole as you are sliding down. Blink once and we are gone, time carves out a think slice and meats it self out neatly but briefly. Tie up your horizons into a polite bow. Put away all your dreams neatly into draws and nice little compartments that everyone will approve of. Do up the buttons of your own applause and make them around you happy by doing what they expect of you. The sand we played in was the place where we shaped out our dreams but they never told us and made us think the opposite that the world outside was a place of continents where we could shape our lives like that sand in that sand pit of our childhood’s.