Whose shell is encompassing us,
Blocking out everything that we could be,
And our natural curiousness,
This invisible barrier,
Cloaked in promise of change,
To become what it never will,
And what it openly disdains.
Each and every one of us,
Secretly wishes for the same thing,
Afraid to admit it openly,
The nut meat, so tasty.
What will it take?
What's the route to self-fulfillment?
Maybe I could start doing what I want,
And stop writing about it.
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