I didn’t grow up on a farm,

I wasn’t overly polite or rude.

I didn’t ride horses or drive tractors,

I wasn’t a gal nor a dude.

They’ve called me a woman

since makeup colored my face,

but I’m not a city or country girl.

I didn’t grow up in mansions,

I wasn’t so used to noise and smog.

I didn’t use taxis and buses,

I wasn’t elegant nor a hog.

They’ve called me a woman

since I learned to pick out my clothes,

but I didn’t grow up, not really.

I didn’t grow up like my mom,

not like my dad or my uncle,

not like my great grandma or my aunt,

I didn’t grow up with rumbles,

nor dinner parties or rodeos.

I grew up with Gen Z,

the generation who’s stuck.

They prefer to play video games,

scroll, sulk, rather than work.

I didn’t grow up like anyone

I’ve ever deeply admired.

I admire their work ethics,

the way they speak up.

But I don’t have that.

I didn’t grow up like that.

I don’t fault my mom,

not my dad,

but media and teenagers

and politics,

electronics.

Everything that broke

everyone I loved.

I see my grandma’s old church,

I see cowboy hats and cowgirl boots.

But I also see towering buildings,

parties and gossiping, charades and kahoots.

Gosh, why this generation?

I didn’t grow up in starvation,

I grew up middle class,

but I didn’t want to be rich.

I wanted to have horses

and rodeos and Dr. Pepper,

headphones and red dirt,

TV shows and books,

I wanted the best of both worlds.

I wanted a little more time

to enjoy the cartoons,

to enjoy the apple juice

and the sloppy Joe’s,

and the playground’s swings.

Even the friends I knew would leave.

I wanted to hear a bedtime story,

but I didn’t grow up that way.

I blast my country music

in my room, through my headphones,

echoing through the car.

I stole a cowboy hat from my friend,

I watched a rodeo.

But it’ll never be the same.

I still grew up with gossip,

media, politics, and video games.

I wish I could silence

the media in my walls.

The echo of it burns.

See, my brain is tired,

my limbs are sore.

Honestly, I’m bored.

I like my life

but I didn’t grow up

the way I wanted to be.

No offense to my parents,

it’s all the fault of me.

Crawling in my walls

is the voice of

who I wish I could be.