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.