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Jun 2016 · 743
Graduate
Adam Dean Jun 2016
Seasons never change
This cycle comes with age
Find me looking out of walls
Expecting an escape

You caught me in a lie
I thought I might erase
But August never came
Jun 2016 · 249
Boulevard Drive
Adam Dean Jun 2016
I've misplaced all my torn up jeans
knees no longer grazed.
I couldn't find another dream
to save me from my days.

I hunger for the summer air
the coldest winter breeze.
I wonder if my neighbors cared
now strangers in the sea.

These open wounds were left to heal
Now scars what use to be.
I find myself thinking of you
when darkness tends to breathe.
Jun 2016 · 396
Millennial
Adam Dean Jun 2016
Are you reading this on your small little phone? Twiddling your thumbs around the comments you own. Tap tap tapping your way to the end. Our generation progresses through ideological STEM.

The pen isn't mighty; it's far from a sword. You nurture me slowly through a slim motherboard. You tell me to write, you tell me to listen. You **** us with progress; I'm missing I'm missing.

The children inside still wonder aloud. A feeling that's shrouded in constant self doubt. A notebook, a journal, a small manuscript, it's nothing it's nothing it's nothing is it?

Should I be like my mother, my father, my teachers? The strangers, the doctors, the lawyers, and preachers? Yes, an adult that soaks up his pride? Lost and forgotten the child inside.

They tell me don't write.
They tell me to listen.
They tell me don't fight.
I'm missing I'm missing.

— The End —