[The [un] [product] [ive] life]

There is an art to everything,

and everything can sell.

What was once an art, is now a science

and very little is left sacred.

Fear of the unknown is cause for defence;

this defence is a boundary.

We label the spaces between the boundaries,

neatly boxed up.

We crave a sense of value;

why,

I am not sure.

We put value in the spaces;

then value the label.

What is it we are left with?

A neatly packaged product, named

to keep the fear at bay.

What we cannot see is unknown

and what is unknown still exists, whether or not we fear it.

There is a pill to suppress the fear;

money, the placebo.

And in return;

a neatly packaged product for you to entertain.

 

I’m tired of the boxes, for there are too many.

They clutter my life space leaving no room to breath

and even less space for growth.

My expression cannot live.

Once it has birthed it is immediately packaged up

in a box,

in a space

between boundaries,

with a label,

where I put my value,

but the label is valued more.

 

Very little is sacred;

left to be.

Why can’t it wander for what it is?

My expression is meant for living,

and I want it a life.

Free to wander and be

not enclosed in a box;

in a space between boundaries,

with a label.

What kind of life is that?

I rather have my expression nameless and free

than sitting in a box,

in a space between boundaries.

I am becoming unproductive.

 

 

© Observing Vessel