I don’t know your world

I only see its consequence

I step over the broken glass

In the bus shelter of your dissidence

Walk past the spray paint

On the walls of your boredom

Rebellion was less destructive in my youth

But maybe it wasn’t

Part of me is angered

Part of me envious

You will never get back this freedom

And you will learn as years pass

That what you destroy now

You will end up trying to rebuild later

But the damage will remain done

Long after you put the spray can down