Mental Regime

We welcome submissions. Featured here is Guest Poet and Sophomore Remy Haring.

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A note from the poet: This is the first in a saga of poems that psychologically explores how a part of me sees myself and the world around me; it’s set against an overarching story in the background.

I wake up

I put on my state mandated uniform

I follow a state mandated morning routine

I walk through the grey streets with propaganda blasting everywhere

Everyone on the streets is walking in unison

On one of the grand and illustrious skyscrapers in the distance

 There is a picture of myself with a beret, sunglasses 

and a military uniform decorated with badges

Like morning dew in grass

I am my own dictator

I am my own regime

The regime’s tenants are strict and punishments cruel

Preaching a high and strict moral character

All flaws must be cut away like a perfect diamond

Servility is the only way to popularity

My true essence is hidden in an internment camp far far away

It’s a colorful, enigmatic energy with boundless love and emotion

A bit of that essence leaks out and returns to me

For a minute I just am myself

Bubbly, colorful, creative and sweet

But not for long

A nearby guardsman smashes the butt of his rifle into the back of my head

I’m out cold

I wake up in a courtroom

Shackles bound me

Guards are everywhere

I move

I’m dead

The jurors on either side of me are my peers, family and friends

They find me guilty

The judge unfurls their robe

The judge is me

The gavel is slammed

Sentence: solitary confinement

This may be a cruel fate

But the regime is nothing if not efficient