My generation
Is the generation in waiting.
We're just waiting
For our lives to change.
We do all the things
We're supposed to,
And are still met
With criticism.
Because half of us
Are doing our best,
Working our hands to the bone,
Breaking down from some
Terrible disorder.
And the other half
Are just wading around in the kiddie pool,
Trying to find their footing into adulthood,
Or not.
The adults
That were the adults
That raised us
Like to only focus
On the half that's not even trying.
But we're the generation
In waiting.
We all waited to be eleven,
So our Hogwarts letters would come.
Because we wanted to escape
This pointless existence.
Now we're all twenty two or turning so,
Give or take a few months/years,
And we're waiting for the moment
Everything changes.
Waiting on that interview, that promotion, that phone call.
Waiting for someone to confess, waiting to confess,
Or in my case, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
We wait,
Because we were never taught
That our lives were our own,
We were always considered
Tools to be used by others,
Our purpose isn't ours,
And that's not a bad thing.
We're in waiting,
Because we're waiting for someone to save us,
To come to our aid,
To grab our hands
And whisk us away
To a better place.
But maybe if we all stopped waiting,
Maybe if we got up and did things for us,
And therefore each other,
We wouldn't be the generation in waiting--
Rather, the generation of doing.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
My generation
Is the generation in waiting.
We're just waiting
For our lives to change.
We do all the things
We're supposed to,
And are still met
With criticism.
Because half of us
Are doing our best,
Working our hands to the bone,
Breaking down from some
Terrible disorder.
And the other half
Are just wading around in the kiddie pool,
Trying to find their footing into adulthood,
Or not.
The adults
That were the adults
That raised us
Like to only focus
On the half that's not even trying.
But we're the generation
In waiting.
We all waited to be eleven,
So our Hogwarts letters would come.
Because we wanted to escape
This pointless existence.
Now we're all twenty two or turning so,
Give or take a few months/years,
And we're waiting for the moment
Everything changes.
Waiting on that interview, that promotion, that phone call.
Waiting for someone to confess, waiting to confess,
Or in my case, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
We wait,
Because we were never taught
That our lives were our own,
We were always considered
Tools to be used by others,
Our purpose isn't ours,
And that's not a bad thing.
We're in waiting,
Because we're waiting for someone to save us,
To come to our aid,
To grab our hands
And whisk us away
To a better place.
But maybe if we all stopped waiting,
Maybe if we got up and did things for us,
And therefore each other,
We wouldn't be the generation in waiting--
Rather, the generation of doing.
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