Poetry | An ode to the molds of my mind

By Mackenzie Oster, Staff Columnist

I think the way I do
In honor of every girl
That used my shoulders
To reach the highest shelf
And every boy
That used the reflection
In my bulging eyes
To see themselves more clearly

I think the way I do
In tribute to those
That have decid  ed
That dimming every switch
Hurts less
    Than being      blinded
By the glare
I think the way I do

For every human
That uses cement as their bed frame
The sharp pain of starvation
A familiar feeling
While others glide by
Too engulfed by a screen
To even bat     an eye

I think the way I do
For every baby
That was left crying
For just a little     too long
Or every mother
That has to lead
While still searching

I think the way I do
Even while everything that surrounds me
Has begged me           not to
Placing a single finger upon my mouth
To suppress any opposing sound
For the fear of progression
Is enough to silence                a whole damned nation