by Betty So many reasons I feel America is a blur, a confusing disaster. People like robots constantly rap to me about how I need to keep my back straight, my hair decent, my eyelashes curled, my bust big, my confidence bursting, my nails long, my bank account fit, my smile constant, my anger numb, my hips curved, my thighs thin, my teeth white, my jewellery glowing, my lips red, my shoes tied, my boyfriend perfect, my GPA high, my skills civil, my sadness gone, my breath fresh, my clothes fitting, my brain fed, my stomach full, my music clean, my religion pure, my car nice, my food proper, my bed made, my tongue innocent, my books censored, my sexual drive low, my voice hushed, my ideas hidden, my skin smooth, my language understood, my opinion narrow, my tattoos covered, my guilt heavy. This weighs me down, I don't want to drown in a compact parade.