Zombies In A Maze

• Mia Story, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2021

They stare at us,
With their blind, judging gaze.
Clustered around, like zombies in a maze.
They think the same,
Laugh the same, full of vain,
Their personalities all so plain.
But sometimes I see through it.
I see the falter in their smiles, the worry over their hairstyles.
Does it look nice? Is it too big? Sometimes, they’re not the real pigs.
It’s the voice inside, the one that starts after we’re no longer kids.
We’re not worthy, we’re not cool, we need to look nicer,
Be better than last time.
We’re afraid we’ll be laughed at, or even worse, ignored,
That one day we’ll be the opposite of adored,
Meaningless.
We become like we are, as generations go,
We become zombies like so.
But is it truly necessary to listen in on that voice?
Or should we, for once, give ourselves a choice?