The door slams with a tremendous “Wham!”
A flood of tears breaks through the dam
and her mascara runs….
She’s had it up to here
And it’s time for her final soliloquy…

“When I turn eighteen I’m moving out of this town.
Out of your house with the constant supervising frown.
I’m getting a tattoo
and you better believe I’m getting five more piercings too!
You’re my parents so you don’t understand me…
My need for freedom.
My individuality.
My need to rebel.”

Thousands of teens repeat these very words, this paradox.
Emotions that cannot seem to fit in a box
… but can they?

But here lies conformity in its very essence!
It dictates obvious acquiescence
To all stereotypes of the American teenager.
This rebel will conform.

Conform to the thousands of teens repeating her words.
Who think that people being polite are being nerds.
Who think respect and strong work ethic
Are the worst crimes: being pathetic…?
Who steal from stores and think that’s cool,
Who flirt and flout every possible rule.
Who are drunk and driving through town,
taking pride in letting their parents down.

Must she conform or rebel?
Conform to the countless teens who steal from stores and think that’s cool
Who flirt and flout every possible rule?
Who are drunk and driving through town
Taking pride in letting their parents down?

I choose to rebel and be different from others!
Rebel from the drama that annoys countless mothers.
Rebel from stereotypical teens my age,
Whose text messages drip with rage.
Rebel from the lazy procrastination:
Such a vivid characterization
Of people my age…?
This is the best way to avoid the monotonous oblivion:
becoming one of t h e m …
One of the countless faces who steal from stores and think that’s cool!
Who flirt and flout every possible rule!
Who are drunk and driving through town,
Taking pride in letting their parents down!