Conformity

They're extinguishing the sun, shutting it out, blocking it from the places it can do the most good.

Don't let it touch you.

They're killing my creativity. They took away the crayons and gave me gray pencils instead.

Don't let it touch me.  

They turned off the music and replaced it with broken glass and chemistry. 

I won't let it touch you. 

They want me to conform. They're trying to turn me into the perfect woman, a mother with well-behaved children, a spotless house, and a flawless appearance. 

I won't let it touch me. 

I won't let it touch me.

I won't let it touch me.