The Mold

At one point in our lives, we've all been told,
"Son, darling, you have to fit into the mold."
And day in and day out, you tried to
Afraid they'd call you names to try and hurt you.
You masked that empty feeling in your soul
Exchanged it for teacups and fancy bowls.
But everytime a cup breaks, you bleed.
Every drop of blood planted like a seed
And it grows into a flower of defiance
They pat your head and commend your performance.
"You've fit the mold quite nicely, dear."
Your strained mutterings, only you can hear.

But the cups keep breaking and blood is pooling now.
They still manage to smile and laugh somehow.
"You are special", they say while handing you pills
Pills that will cure all of your ills
You take them but only under your tongue
Spitting them out like you did when you were young
Breaking the cups, every last one
Breaking the mold, and that's when you start to run