My Condomic Institute

My Condomic Institute By Donald Knowledge Nhira My mind’s a condomic institute thoughts wrapped tight, safe from feeling, infertile from truth. A barren sanctuary,where my wildest dreams are wrapped in rubber logic. Every idea’s inspected,sanitized, protected, never wild, never real. Just theory in gloves,dreams behind glass. I’m trapped in my own head’s safety plan, afraid to bleed,to speak without a mask. They call it protection. I call it prison. Every idea passes through filters, every passion wears gloves. No mess. No risk. Just safe simulations of what could be. But I’m done with filters.Let the thoughts come raw, let passion tear through policy. No more protection just me, unwrapped, unleashed. I'm the professor and the prisoner, handing out permission slips to thoughts that never leave class. Fear teaches psychology. Doubt handles philosophy. And love? Love dropped out years ago. They said I’m deep. But I’m not deep,I’m just layered in hesitation, disguised in intellectual lubrication, wrapped up so tight nothing ever penetrates. This mind…It’s a condomic institute. Safe, silent, smart,but slowly killing art. I want chaos.I want real. I want to rip the sealoff every feeling I’ve kept in zip-locked emotion. Let me bleed thought without protection. Let the world taste the raw of my reflection. No more censored metaphors, no more padded poems. Just me and the truth I buried in a latex syllabus. The Knowledgetic Steroid AkA Donald Knowledge Nhira