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Poem

The clouds hang low, thick and dark
It reminds me of the suffocation I feel here
It is supposed to be my home, the secure native place
Drop me off in a corner here, and I should be able to navigate back
I suppose the land is lovely
Petrichor and sweltering heat plays portrait paint
Deathly beauty, stifling beauty
Rules I do not want to abide by
Opinions I’d like to fling across a hill, far from me
I can’t appreciate the people here
Old, not crippled, stuck in their ridiculous gilded cage
A cage called society
I pity them, a world lost all of a sudden
They crave a sense of authority
I wonder why it is that talking to the old I do not love,
Is more fun than talking to those I do love
I wish to return to my home
Filled with the thrums of teen spirit, 
Of a lack of judgment, fun and life
The old think we do not experience things anymore
That is not true
We do, we make long lasting friendships, we go on walks
Yes, technology has seeped into our lives
But I am sure, many of us still enjoy versions of life they enjoyed, albeit on a screen
Chess? We get in on a screen, do we not? We can play beyond the people we know
We get to talk to so many more people, learn of different countries
We are fortunate, thanks to them, but the thanks seems to stop there
I don’t wish for you to dictate my clothes, my opinions and my behaviour
You do not have that right, 
I do not scream it at your face, because courtesy is something the youth has
I wish to go back, it is too thick with boiling hot air here

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