Class’ freedom

Freedom teases me. 
It comes within reach them dances away laughing, mocking, beckoning me closer. 
I lung and sprint and reach out desperately but to no avail
My cell hugs me closer, comforts me as I cry with loss. 
Freedom sits just out of reach singing to me. It sings of happiness and contentness.
It sings of love. 
My cell covers my ears and whispers dark thoughts in my head. 
It whispers of sleep and sadness. 
It whispers of an endless cycle of boredom and uncertainty. 
I frantically try to break its hold but it does not budge. 
It now screams of class and tradition. 
I must not change. 
I must stay the same. 
The world does not need more celebrities it needs more working class. 
Class. 
That word. 
That word that separates people by their wealth and talent. 
That word that decides your freedom. 
My freedom dances to a tune I can no longer hear. I must not change. My cell demands.