So many of us sit, think and still
wonder,
But have we ever gave ourselves the chance to ask?
Well no!
We just rejoice and find oursleves
floating on cloud nine because
"it is just another public holiday"

So many of us have cherished this day,
as a day of drinking, parting
and being in the family way.
Which "Us" am i refering to?
Well it is the youth of South Africa,
That can only sing "Freedom is coming tomorrow" very well
without knowing the significance
of that freedom
and what it took for this freedom
to come

well let me take you back to the
hands of time.
In June 16, 1976
the mongoloid youth of South Africa
marched down the streets of Soweto for this freedom we have today.

BLOOD SHADE,
SCREAMS,
EXPLOIDING SOUNDS
and the cries of faces without races
filled the streets of Soweto.

Parents feared for the lives of their children,
but who knew that adolescents
could be so brave?

They stood together in unity,
the same unity we lack today.
Fought for what was right and that came with their African roots,
which we nolonger honour today,

they fought against the usage af
Afrikaans as the main language of communication at schools.
And look where it left us today.
We have the Right to choice
and the Freedom of association.

And not forgeting that,
they left us with the courage to say "WE ARE PROUDLY SOUTH AFRICANS"

The upbringing of a person could lead to a frivolous publican.
A brother and sister are both witnessing the featherbrained fool.
This world we live in is a bit bamboozle

Escaping to a state of ecstasy with your purple kaleidoscope why don't we shape the future and use cinnamon soap.

With your undercoats it's an antidote for a hurtful situation
It's like we are burning in ice.
Your a magician but you can't stop stupid.

Adolescents knowing the need to finish yet they are taking over to much to cope.
So now they are discovering, considering, cinnamon soap.

i am running out of
air
i am running out of
scrapes on my knees
running out of
new corners to cross
in this neighborhood

we are growing up in the same houses
with the same curtain of trees draping
their limbs over our windowsills
we are sleeping in the same bedsheets
wrinkled from the imperative
tossing and turning
of adolescents.

we inflate our chests
and float away like red balloons
a freckle in the pale complexion of the sky
for this love affair with the pavement
has lost its edge
this slipping on
slimy banana peels
has stabilized

we have bitten and scratched and stained
the doors of your fingers
studied every trail of your fingerprints
we have grown older in the palm of your hand
your fists raised to the sky
it is time for you to open them.

I turned seventeen today.
It's nothing special.
But I turned seventeen today,
And that's something.

There's a difference between
Seventeen and 17.
They have the same value,
But have a different meaning.

Seventeen is
Your teen years
Coming to an end
But just starting all the same

Seventeen is
Your last year as a child;
The ability to be free
With little responsibility

Seventeen is
Maturity
Adolescents
Personality

But 17 is
Just a number.
It has no real significance.
It's not special.

17 is
Just an age
That's not as important
As 18 and 21.

17 is
Small
Irrelevant
Numerical.

But I turned seventeen today
I turned 17 today
Mature.
Irrelevant.

Our bare, brief escape begins at the dance.
Steaming, smoking animals moving chance
that this ***** dancehall can yield loving.
Drug crazed pickers rev up their machined
Six string-ed orchestral Gibson guitars;
Yow! All the hipsters are making the scene
just now arrived in their late models cars.
Adults aping adolescents boldy down
drinks, belch bad beer and sweetly perspire
while you seething, hot and so sensuous
put my hand to your breast showing your fire.
Baby let's dance! Let's have our fun!!
Our brief escape has just begun.

Insouciance
It drives reckless souls
Out into the night
Spreading their unruly plight
Knowing nothing of fear, only of fight
Irresponsibility is a term
Those of this heart know well
As it's screamed from rickety back doors
It's reek seeps through cracked floors
Gets pounded deep in their cores

They are taking over this world

Oh Adolescents
Emotional highs and lows
We mellow with age

Listen.
The drunk girls are so loud
when they cheer for us.
You know?
They're more excited
than we could ever be.
We are terrified to the bone.

Well, I know I am.
Though you fascinate me.
You don't need love, you found and lost your home.
Neither do I,
My old scars still sting.
I've ****** up.
We ****** up everything.

It's not all the girls,
just the ones that can't handle their cocktails.
Not the cool kids, who smoke,
drink pitchers of beer and
full bottles of *****
but can still count backwards from thirty.
Just the ones that love me,

know what would make me happy.
I'm not incapable of love,
we just don't like it.
My ego wouldn't let me anyway,
my important sense of self
forever blocks the way.
Do you understand how perfect I would have this be?

It horrifies me.

White Knuckles Clench No Dreams,
Lips Speak No Truth--No Beauty,
Skin Beaten Black And Blue,
From The Hollowed Hearts We Carry,
Most Crumble Under This Weight,
Disintegrating Under The Influence,
Of Stereotypical Fame, Image, And Behavior,
Of Imperious And Deleterious Pride,
This Beginning Is No End--Just A Plethora Of Paths,
But Most Of Us Think That There Is No End,
So We Make One For Ourselves,
There Is No Ambition To Push For Change,
There Is No Passion Which Burns Behind Our Eyes,
There Is No Rapture In Our Already Corrupted Souls,
Our Minds Are Asleep--Drunk With The Desire To Escape,
We Have Palms--But They Do Not Reach For Stars,
We Have Feet--But We Don't Know How To Stand,
And We Have Eyelids, But We Cannot Keep Them Open

I pray you burn the wood you carved us into, because I'm tired of fighting this fire alone.
You've roasted our love away, carving us into a childhood bunk bed and praying we stay past our adolescent phase.
I want to kiss you under our initials, show you how heated I can get under your gaze, smolder the letters of my name because I don't belong on bunk beds.
I belong in backseats, and kissing behind your mothers back when she's making us dinner.
I belong as a secret, I belong on letters you were never suppose to send.
Lick the envelopes with love you aren't suppose to have for me, tell your mother it's a platonic relationship and your father I was the kind of girl you'd marry.
I don't belong on bunk beds, so don't put me above your head.