Academy Of American Bullshit

the invisible generation.

You smelled like acrylic paint and desperation, and I suppose that's why I found you so enticing. Perhaps it was the way your bloodshot eyes widened whenever I spoke. Or the way you clung to the back corner of the classrooms, fighting the silent battle of the invisible generation.

I remember it clearly.

You did not wish to be spoken to, or to be spoken of.

I did not respect that.

I told the world of you intelligent words and devastating images, of the universe you kept secret.

It was your own little world, and I fought so hard to be allowed entry.

But I was always turned away at the gates.