The medal

As you grow older,
They ask so much of you.
They ask you to be strong
And tolerant and “adjusting”.
They ask you, in the face of
Not willing to:
Get out of bed
Or meet old friends
Or have regular sleep patterns
Or have regular meal times,
To be accomodating, to run through the motions.
I ask for one day, one day to quiet down
If it were another city, I’d probably get that one day.
With no errands to run, no compunctions running in my head.
But this city and its people ask for too much:
Squeeze yourself to fit into the moulds of this city’s crippled infrastructure.
Squeeze yourself to fit into this mould of efficiency that wont let you breathe.
Should you breathe, the guilt will come crashing down –
How dare we ask for a breather?
How dare we complain when others have it worse?
Doing things with no complaints fetch you a medal, approved by society and the guilt it feeds your head.
I forget to boast and tell all and sundry, that I worked three fourteen hour days this week.
I forget to get that medal with a generous side of sympathy, awe and envy.

This post is inspired by Waiting on the World to Change by Amarllyis.

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