After the years added on, from nursery bed to institutionalized slavery, they polish me. I have donned different shapes, some of obedience, love and hate. I have worn them well. I have worked on the lie as my eccentricities were filed down or added on. As they beat my malleable spirit to submission. The speech patterns, the queens language, the ill fitting clothes,stifling Fashions borrowed from hollow crowds. I am molded, broken,soldiered, put through the crucible of replication. A once blank canvas torn and mended over and over again. They polish me still, Painted red colors with blackish hues, a banner man,a mascot. Dancing to the beat of their drums. kyalo.