In time maybe they’ll understand
That there is no difference and it is simply a hindrance
A pot calling the kettle black in retrospect
But what is it that separates.
Simply put it is the lack of power
The lack of not being able to stand
The hunger of not having anything to eat
The silence of not being able to speak
The inability to be what you want to be
Because a nagging whisper that one puts to rest
But it grows as you put it away
Whether it be by choice or force.
We are a victim to this whisper
For soon it erupts , lashing out at all who are near
It does not distinguishes between friend or foe
It only wants a willing audience or otherwise