Conveyor belt

Did you ever hear
That the losers and outcasts,
Become billionaires?
Who wrote that fable anyways?
Hoping that their ink would stain?

On this conveyor belt of a world,
The good ones become doctors and lawyers
With scholarships and degrees
Throwing pennies into the pocket of a poor man.
They didn’t have enough pockets for their change.

The good ones don’t question.
Happily married with 3 kids.
Not that they’re in love.
They’re just a safety net.
What each other are supposed to do.
Not the kind of fate that’s written in this stars.
The kind that’s written in prenups.
Anyways, what would they think?
Not married by 28?

The good ones,
Will never feel a single thing
For as long as they shall live.
Like a permanent smile sewn on their face
When water falls out of their eyes,
They must claim to be a waterfall.
Oh, forever dolls on a conveyor belt.

They’ll fit you to the rest
They’ll open your head
Fill it with the right ideas.
Kill that flame.

And “they” is not the man,
Not the woman.
It’s the people too scared
To step out of that all too narrow line;
Not even by the skinny heel of their redbottoms.
Or else what?
They’ll be the screw ups.
The artists and musicians
Living on a dime
But making poetry
And skipping through dark cafes
Hoping to find someone who thinks the same.