you may be my parents but you're not my jailkeepers

i'm feeling an odd mix of 'trapped' and 'sliding too much like a screw's loose'

"home"
is a word used far too often
when by me, it is used sparingly

my home is not here.
wherever it is, the city of my birth
it not the city of my heart

for i am something other then
cloudy gray skies and cold mornings
i wish to leave, and that is a radical view here

these people i walk through hallways with,
they have families and old money stuck in this place
they'll grow up to go to expensive universities

and that trend will not end - 
they will marry rich and buy a large house
and have two kids, who will in turn live that life too

what does it say about them
that they are raising kids to just follow their footsteps
and i feel like i am the only one who

does not want to walk that path, 
not now and not ever
because i crave a new city

and i want to find my home, wherever it may be
my plans don't involve children
they involve green iguanas and pit bulls

i look at these people around me
with their futures set in stone
and wonder why mine is not

they all know what they want to be - 
lawyer, doctor, sports champion, banker
and i know nothing

i cannot tell if that is worse or better,
to have a life you do not know how to live
or to blaze a path already cleared

yet i know which is easier
even though it was never an option
i feel like i am the only one scared to live

because they know to go to the most 
expensive, elite universities
and i know how to write applications

there is a definite difference between the two
but god, they don't even know how to do their laundry
and though i know this is years away, i cannot help but worry

does no-one else think of what their life will be like
just because they will live one not their own?
i am not them, but i don't think they see that

no familial obligations or old money bleeds through my veins
i am just myself, just my bedroom, just my parents
first-generation of the new order

i don't think they quite understand me,
this odd teenager who just happens to live in their house
with my feminism, identity, sexuality

i am not theirs, not really,
i have my own opinions on world issues, 
on cultural and migrational problems

do not paint me in your own image, parents,
because i am not like you.
i am my own person, and you can't seem to let me go.

The End

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