20 something year olds should be writing about how in love they are,
Or about how they’ve come so far
Or the beauty of a day,
How green the grass is in May.
Not about our collective disappointment,
Our detestable confinement,
Trying to find a culprit,
For a hostile employment market.
Celebrating illness and anxiety,
Losing hold of sanity,
From feeling superfluous.
God, who failed us?