The Zoo.

Written about my home, The Gold Coast.

We live in the confines of our mind.

 

Barred by our own beliefs and ideals.

 

The roar of traffic louder than that of even the most ferocious of lions.

 

The high rises replace the trees in our makeshift concrete jungle. 

 

You have the giraffes,

Our native tall poppies.

 

They seem to take for granted this place we call home, unable to disassociate pride from arrogance.

 

Feeding time is a salacious chunk of senseless gossip.

 

The mouths of avaricious teenagers opening and closing quicker than a flock of ravenous birds.

 

We are kept in cages,

Restricted from those not of our kind.

 

Not by bars,

But prejudice.

 

People stare.

 

And mock.

 

And snicker.

 

Chameleons change their colours as a form of rejection,

Here, we change, in order for acceptance.

 

Elephant’s are judged by the length of their trunks.

 

The Zoo is always wide-awake,

Even when its occupants lay dormant.

 

The rattling of keys that awakens the kingdom comes in the form of a 30 second weather forecast.

 

Adolescents form schools of their own, their fins waxed and ready for the waves thundering before them.

 

We are not barred by the dense dullness of the concrete jungle,

Nor the cerulean waters of the Pacific Ocean,

Instead we are barred by our mind.

 

Here in The Zoo,

We are all part of the same herd,

 

 

But we are not heard.