Through all my life, they've told me:
"You've got to go to class."
They never cease to scold me;
they say, "Keep off the grass."
My elders are still unhappy
with my personality.
They're attempting to micro-manage
the individual that is me.
I place my trust in my own two feet,
and I ask no one for help.
When I told them I didn't care to drive,
they thought I was a whelp.
I have no care for their secret lies
about the way I am.
My ancestry, my family ties
are most of what holds me to them.
That little sliver of what is not
a simple bond of blood,
the love there is between me and them
will not fall into mud.
I care for them as much, despite
their occasional diatribe,
and I hope our dispute can be made right
for as long as they're alive.
The things they think that I should do,
the way they wish I'd be,
is not the pathway of my heart;
It's not the way for me.
I'm doing all my duties,
and I'm not skipping class;
but, Grandma, please think again
if you want me off the grass.