My hands are numb pleading for the screaming of my voice, I tried to be loud but the elders seems not to care at all
In this world full of condemning, I want to say something
Dear people, Dear elders, Dear experiences, Do not be presumptuous!
I can have what you have for twenty years, for progression is never lost!
I may be a kid in your eyes, I may be too dimwit in your own world of professionals
But this torment of not minding what I speak, not pondering of my voice, is making me feel I'm dead in this world full of pals
You have your own leaf of coming and going back and forth, and I also have my own for experiences is what I sought
You don't understand, we are shut, you were too focus in the height of your neck you forgot what's veritably worth it
I maybe just the size of your shoulders but I, too, have enough burdens
You do not carry, for my capability is a hindrance of your credibility
But don't you know how people falls under fallacy? It's the result of their lack of humility
Oh humility! Make it stop! Make the discrimination stop!
I have my youth, I do have the ability to still be clever
And a long lifetime is not a pass for the inability to be denser
Our leaf of ages, may be green, may be orange, may be dried
But it has its own bloom, nature, purpose, essential for it tried
One can say a lot, one can be a philosopher, and one can hear it right regarding of thy age
You should also hear, not because we weren't there during the cold war means we cannot be sage
Doesn't mean we weren't in the dark old days means we don't know suffering
For we can have an ear that feels it, shiver from it, and strive to halt it from happening
If we could only lean on our ears, if we could only hear better than yesterday
We would have known, that there are sense in innocence so brilliant nowadays
The elders should guide but how can you give guidance if you don't know anymore what you're guiding?
The betterment of the young adult or proving you're right all along?
This is us, teenager, the new generation, telling you to hear us, penniless but we also make sense
It is not the age that brings capability, nor the rights to speak up or give a penny
It is not the color of the leaves, nor the texture, for one might bloom too late or too soon
So please hear us, if your love for the generation is true, pleading, understand what this kid value
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...