Freedom

Freedom Classroom walls hum the same old song, Lesson plans like fences, where do I belong? Chalk dust floats in the afternoon heat, Dreams of open fields, where my feet can meet The grass, the sun, the wind that sings, Not the bell that rings, “Time to think like them.” I stare at maps with roads untrod, Want to be the cloud that floats, not the log. Heard a whisper in the rustling leaves, “Follow the joy, not the rules that grieve.” My heart’s a kite with a frayed string, Pulling me toward the blue, where I can sing. Oh, freedom—like a bird with no cage, no chain, Like a stream that carves its own winding lane. Freedom—to be the sun, not just the ray, To chase the horizon till the end of day. This is the song I’ll hum, when the world’s too loud, Freedom’s the map I draw, with a heart so proud. Old bike with a basket, tires thin and worn, Rode past the town where I was born. Fields of wheat dance, tall as my head, Stars peek through clouds, like secrets unsaid. No schedule to keep, no “should” to heed, Just the crickets’ chirp, and the wind’s soft plead To spread my arms, let the air take hold, Be the story I want, not the one I’m told. Heard a laugh in the distant creek, “Be the river, not the dam that leaks.” My soul’s a sail with a steady breeze, Carrying me past the fears, towards the seas. Oh, freedom—like a bird with no cage, no chain, Like a stream that carves its own winding lane. Freedom—to be the sun, not just the ray, To chase the horizon till the end of day. This is the song I’ll hum, when the world’s too loud, Freedom’s the map I draw, with a heart so proud. Freedom’s not running from the rain, But dancing in it, feeling the pain Of growth, of trying, of falling, then rising, Knowing the sky’s not just for the wise ones. It’s the crayon drawing on a rainy day, Colors messy, but it’s mine to display— No judge, no grade, just the joy of “I tried,” Freedom’s the child in me, who never died.