Grey. Uniformity.
Lack of personal expression.
I'm suffocating.
The weird way my hair parts
my half stride, half slump
I'm not allowed to be me.
We learn about other countries here,
the map color-codes them.
But we don't truly experience
their difference, their uniqueness.
To us they are a picture on a page,
a paragraph in a textbook.
They're not real.
Not like the dull sense of loathing,
that pounds in the back of my brain.
The sameness drives me mad.
Animalistic instincts take over,
and then nothing.

Grey.