we are the children of the boomers working class
we sip coffees on the outskirts of town,
where fields meet banks and dentists.

we are generation y and we have been labeled.
we travel to far lands to rid ourselves of the suburban perfection and the small-minded complaints of lawns and *** holes.
we search for value beyond what is in our pockets.

we have watched our parents live monotonous lives,
in order to provide for us.  
we are told that we are spoiled, and slow-starting.

with every act and thought we fight to be otherwise.
we are the children, who were talked about,
during big decisions.

we are the children who were ignored.
now we are effected.
the weight is on our shoulders.

we must live in the world that they created.  
we try to modify, to make due, to change,
only to be told we are naive and powerless.

we have interests in things other than suburbia, business, and details. most apparently, we think for ourselves.
we live in a gap of time that our parents never had,
or that we can not imagine them ever having.

we dream, we debate, we express and we travel.
we move beyond the experiences offered here.
in twenty short years, we have already had enough.

we hold onto a small piece of string,
dangling in the darkness of our existence,
holding onto opportunity, before we are forced to forget and settle.

we hope that some of us will escape. we fear that it is impossible.
we have been given everything, we are lucky and we are safe,
and yet we are unsatisfied.

we have learnt the lesson about money and happiness sooner than our parents.
we get ****** in sleepy city’s to shut out the constant speed and pressure.
we sit on cliffs and watch lights flicker off the waters edge. we sip coffees by highways and pretend we will last like this forever.

everything feels like a movie scene.
everyone is a character.
everyone is fighting against the future that we’re told we’ll have.
the weight is on our shoulders.
we are the children who inherit the earth,
and all of its horrendous problems.