They told me to be quiet be seen not heard have no voice. They rage with guns. Frothing, angry about things they can’t control. But they control me. I must be careful living, breathing, moving. A bell jar life stifling heat all the heat searing my soul. I have a soul not under their control. I have a soul mine. Why are they so angry? Are they the devil? Hatred glazes their eyes for everything/one different. And I am but one.