Comfortable Cages – Inspiration Monday

Great prompts this week on Inspiration Monday! I’m out sick right now so I jumped at the break from my boredom. Anyway, here you guys go, I’d love thoughts/criticism/comments, whatever. (:

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Comfortable Cages

My life is simple. Perfect actually. I’ve never been hungry, never been hurt, and never seen the other side of these bars.

Sometimes, it’s a boring life – perfection has a way of doing that to you – but it’s comfortable. They tell me I’m crazy for wanting to leave. Who would want to experience pain and hunger when you have all this? They say. Under my breath I always whisper, Me. That’s who.

Am I ungrateful like they say? Does my discontent just show that I don’t deserve the life I’ve been handed? I promise I don’t mean to be this way. I’ve tried to stop questioning the things that are supposed to be gifts. My curiosity may always be my curse, but I do try to fight it.

They can call me strange, they’re right, anyone can see that. I do feel bad, but this place is wrong. Humans are not meant for this. Perfection leaves us without a reason. Here, I have no reason to get up every morning. Here, I have no reason to live. Comfortable cages leave us all with no purpose. I can’t live this way.

Breaking Into Prison

Well, I’m finally back! I have a life again. Or, no life again. Anyway, that’s a good thing. I have time to write now. In the last three days I’ve written 5,000 words on a random piece I came up with on an overnight epiphany.
Enough rambling, this post is for my piece for Inspiration Monday this week:
Breaking Into Prison
On the outside looking in.
Constant noise, indistinguishable from a distance. Never ending whispers, gossipy conversations. One wrong step could ruin anybody. Imprisoned in their world of requirements and fettered by their lies. ‘It’s all fake,’ someone says. But they’re wrong. This is very real. The liars who created this world are so caught in it that they’ve become exactly what they say they are. Just remember, everything comes at a cost.
When you look away, it’s easy to remember why you hate them all. Consumed with their own appearance of perfection. You and I don’t look away often though. Looking away means tearing your eyes off the utopia they represent, and returning your gaze to the hell they live.
Getting in among them isn’t hard. Drift along the sidelines being perfect until someone notices you. They devour a chance to be like you, because you and I still appear perfect to them. They need your perfection as much as we need air.
Don’t fall for their lies.
Breaking into prison is easy.
Getting out is the hard part.