This place suffocates me.
Yet when I look at you,
I imagine the landscape
of the future on the grassy field
at the foot of the hills
with yellow dandelions
scattered like bubbles
on green skirt and the cherry
blossoms slowly sway,
pink belt-like ribbon — the horizon
that separates the cerulean dome;
we hide in the underbrush
making our discovery,
oblivious of the scenery,
as we leisurely plant
our own seeds of hope.
You can really write a poem. Good job!