Estranged

It’s when old age is equal to privilege

and the young must do nothing but obey.

It’s when your questions are heard

as a sign of your insolence

instead of one’s ability to think critically

and you’re branded as mere rebels

with too much to say.

It’s when abuses are equal to discipline.

You don’t even get to talk about anything.

They call it ‘tough love’ and you must forgive.

Otherwise, you’re more than welcomed

to just pack up and leave …

… Where?

Well, what do they care?

It’s always been their way or the highway.

That’s just how they always play.

So you decide to keep it quiet,

until it’s the right time to escape.

All you need is a way out,

so you feel your silence,

weighing it in

with unspoken resentment

or perhaps even hate.

There’ll be that day when you’re so far, far away

and that they’ll start missing you every forsaken day.

If home is where the heart is,

then please … carry yours … even piece by piece.

This time, they can’t get in.

You no longer wish to let them.

You’ve grown … estranged.

R.