My Barbed Wire Syndrome

They expect us to play ball

But always move the goalposts

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They expect us to hold boundaries

The same they overstep

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They want us to abide

But break their own rules

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They want us to be responsible

Three hots and a cot, how can we be?

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They expect us to be kind

In a place it can be exploited

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They don’t want us to be violent

In a place violence can be a commodity

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They want us to show love

But there’s no love here

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They want us to soften our ways

In a place hardened men thrive

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They expect us to be truthful

But fill us to the brim with lies

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They take so much

But give so little

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They wanted me to conform

All they formed was a con.