Pressurized Cans

Falling down allows us to stand,
so when did we decide that falling down is banned?
Because it's not planned, suddenly it's canned
into a pressure-filled cup that keeps filling up.
As the pressure builds, we suddenly wonder,
"How did my life suddenly plunge under,
Under the water, where I feel like I'm drowning,
Where a smile can do nothing but mask the frowning?"
And yet, it's because we've forgotten the truth,
that truth that falling down is simply a part of youth,
and we are all just youth walking around
on this solid ground just hoping to be found.
We try to plan each step and action
while still being shocked at a negative reaction
from a crowd that we desperately tried to please
to somehow appease the unease that comes when we trapeze -
Trapeze between the rungs of love and hate, impatience and wait.
So let's abate the suddenly grandiose debate
of whether acceptance and tolerance creates a clean slate;
of whether keeping quite dictates what's fate and innate.
As though, suddenly, apathy is held higher than actuality
and passivity more respectably than passion.
Meanwhile, can's continue to become pressurized
In a society where pressure can presumably be lifted by keeping silent.
Opinion is sufficient only when it keeps the peace,
yet where is the peace in the place where love seems to cease?
We're all dolls on a shelf, told to remain,
but who, then, will call forth the rain?
The rain that will truly cleanse the obscene routine scene
of detachment and halfheartedness in almost every teen.
Wake up, sleeping giants, for many are there
who've never know Love, present everywhere.
For somewhere has become no where
and silence has begun shouting
Shouting, "Help me! I'm alone! Who can hear me!"
Listen to the cries sneaking from the pressurized cans,
Reach out & touch with healing, strengthening hands.