“Bliss”

I don't want to know, 

I want to know 

Wait, don't tell me 

I want to find out  

I want to find out who created the gears of the machine 

Each intricate cog and wheel that decided that depending on who it is

a human life could be no big deal. 

Each tooth of metal that entwined with another  

of all shapes and sizes that decided they were ones  

that get to choose how beautiful I am.  

Who inspected the finished product? 

Going over each part and their worth  

Throwing away the parts that didn't work 

looking at my bronzed edges 

confirmed them to be rust  

Stripped me from the machine and left me to gather dust. 

Who built this? 

This machine with this pristine exterior 

coated in gloss 

While the insides are rotting

Not knowing the mechanism they run 

Content with playing their part  

never looking any closer 

not searching for answers  

Too afraid to ask the real questions 

that will strip their veins of their ignorance 

pumping their organs with compliance 

and instead clothe it in knowledge 

until they break free of the machine 

and wrap themselves in defiance.