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Leah Carr Apr 20
Watched.
You're being watched.
3 sets of eyes bearing down on you
causing you to buckle under their pressure
They tell you to stop scratching yourself
to calm down
And don't you dare tell them to shut up
You can't be abusive
Because these people are only here to help you
It doesn't matter that they're rude
and ignore you
and don't listen
because they're supporting you
it's in your best interests

Watched.
You're being watched.
Eyes like lasers
staring at your private parts
as you try to get changed
surely
surely this is a violation of my rights
but of course
your rights are gone
along with your dignity
and your will to live

Watched.
You're being watched.
As you're trying to sleep
By the very people who shouted at you
and pinned you down
less than 24 hours before
over a little hair around your finger
You shouldn't have brought that up
Now yet another flashback is crashing over you

Watched.
You're being watched.
But it's only because you can't keep yourself safe
We're just here to keep you safe
What do you mean we're not good at it?
Well I know you've self-harmed without us noticing
But that wasn't me on shift that day
It's not my fault

Care.
You're in Care.
Not that you're being cared for.

You have to fend for yourself.
long stretches of disappointing time
have turned you blind
to your dreams
X

well, in this time i have grown my vision
now i play life’s game
with better timing and precision
O

blind as you are
you’ll trip on your past convictions
flat on your face, full of regret
X

i pray
i don’t become blind
the older i get
O

resume to live by my unwise heart
manoeuvre to where
my unsure mind sees best
O

and this is how i see i’ll win,
where you have lost,
in the cruel game of life
O

(3 O’s in a row. I win!)

or
is my youth
my fall
X

and i’m unawarely
walking down the same blinding path
as you
X

will i see
that i’m blind
life has got me outplayed and i lost?
X
Dreaming is a necessity. Like everything necessity, it’s your responsibility to preserve it from it being stolen, even if the theft is life…
stillhuman Jan 17
Remember that summer
when it was dry and heavy
but in the evening
the breeze would gently
sway the smoke
of your cigarette in my hand
when you were trying
to teach me how not to choke

And I remember coughing
and laughing it off with you,
how smoke had always
been around me
but my lungs were funny
'bout this direct approach

And we talked 'bout everything
from heartbreak, to lovers, to family
And I truly felt wonder
at the simplicity of those moments
and how much they meant to me

So much I look back to them now
when it's winter and I'm alone
missing your warmth, your voice
and itching for a smoke
everything matters
Anais Vionet Nov 2021
In my experience, most adults have “vanity walls”, usually in their offices, where they hang diplomas, awards, certificates and important pictures. Most parents I know have them.

I like to look carefully at those momentos - they’re like breadcrumbs tracing back through their lives. Some items are expected while others are extraordinary - like pictures of Lisa’s dad playing golf and laughing with famous people.

“It’s a very particular kind of vanity.” Lisa’s dad said, from in back of me, from his office doorway. I almost jumped in surprise - I definitely flinched. I’d become so absorbed in examining his wall that I’d unconsciously inched into his space, like someone stealing into a closed museum exhibit.

I flushed with embarrassment, ”No,” I said, making a hand gesture that swept the area. “I LOVE these kinds of things - I couldn’t resist - I’m sorry!”

He made a “Pssshtt” sound and waved his hand, “You make yourself at home.”

“I want to have a wall someday,” I said. He smilingly turned and with a little backward wave, said, “You will,” as he strolled off to the kitchen, leaving me to continue my tour.

I will.
adults lives are interesting - they’ve been there and DONE it.
Jennifer DeLong Apr 2021
Why so much violence
Why can't we find peace
Why are you protesting
causing so much destruction
is that really better ?
Breaking windows
spraying hate upon
these walls
Your destroying
people's lives
your turning our
city into a ugly ****** up
mess
How does that get your message across ?
Grow the **** up
and look up protesting
see it's meaning are you reading the meaning ?
It's about using your voice and standing up
Your all acting like brats
hurting others
acting like bullies
that's not protesting
your not getting attention
Your getting us *******
I hope you get to feel the
damage your causing
You belong in a cell
Where you can't destroy
and steal and throw
temper tantrums
Where you can't spread
your ugliness
and we can find peace
and find our way ahead
It has to stop
your not proving anything
I know you must be stopped
it has to end
it's no longer about
race or hate
It's about adults who are
acting like children
You need to learn
the meaning
of protesting
You need to build others
up and help people see
there is a way forward
So stop just stop
We can handle this
You need to be taught
a lesson and karma
will handle you soon
I just hope sooner
not later
© Jennifer L DeLong 🦏
4/17/2021
LC Apr 2021
they may carry children
with cotton-candy-tinted glasses,
or adults who nudge the world
to align with their visions,
or the elderly who see a path
of golden light ahead of them,
or animals who always beam
around their fellow humans,
and...
they carry children with shoulders
that know the weight of the world
or adults who see their dreams shattering
all around them like a broken mirror,
or the elderly who can only see gray clouds,
wondering when the darkness will lift,
or animals who are suffocated by the noise
and crave the fresh air and blue skies.
these vessels carry more stories than
the number of stars in this infinite universe.
#escapril day 15!
Bardo Feb 2021
There was something wrong with the adults I always thought
When I was young... when I was little
The Grown Ups
There was something, well something missing in them
They seemed a bit preoccupied, a bit faraway by times,
Maybe it was the great responsibility they had, looking after us
Or running after us, we used run around a lot back then,
Out on the beach under the big blue sky
On our way out to meet the tide
The wonderful colourful houses of the village seen from afar,
With the big chapel on the hill
And the lovely blue mountains of the headland sloping down to the sea
We'd be lost in the joy and excitement of the moment, thinking
"Isn't this wonderful, isn't it amazing, this thing called Life, Wow!!!"
And Mom she'd be there with us, tagging along
And on her face this kind of... kind of lonesome smile
There seemed to be a great sadness in them somewhere
They didn't seem to have the same joy that we had
Etched on their faces was something else, something haunting
Days of struggle and hardship... and pain.

Their own parents had died when they were very young
They used tell me, tell me gravely
"One day, one day we won't be here son"
And you'd go off to school feeling very tearful inside
Hardly able to do your lessons, mulling over those terrible words,
And at night in bed, you'd listen for their voices downstairs
And if you couldn't hear them, you'd get up and sit on the landing listening intently for their spoken words
So as to be reassured, that they were still there,
That they hadn't gone away and left you.

                      II

The adults they loved  to sit and talk and drink tea
We didn't like talking much, that was boring stuff
(We liked the biscuits though)
We wanted to be outside playing, up and about
Yea! We wanted action and adventure instead
Playing games, kicking football up the garden
Running down the wing, shooting for goal, scoring!
O! the thrill of it all,
Or playing soldiers, cowboys and Indians
Or down the beach among the rocks exploring
Whereas we probably lived a lot still in our bodies
And in the thrill of the moment
(I remember I used talk to parts of my body when I was very little, when there was no one else around)
The adults they seemed to live in their heads most of the time
Locked away up there in their lonely towers
Adults I suppose had decisions to make.

Often Mom would find it hard to keep up with us
We could get away with a lot of things with Mom
But it was different though when Dad would come home
Then the atmosphere in the house would change
There'd be this strange tension
The Dads they were strange ones
They were like that Rodin sculpture "The Thinker" (a man bent over thinking)
You'd watch them warily, and move around them very carefully and quietly
You'd have to have your antenna switched on
You didn't know which mood would be on them
Whether they were going to be gentle or flare up like a firestorm.

The Dads they used to drink beer and black stuff, the Guinness
Sometimes they'd give us a sip
Ugh...the taste of it, it'd give you the creeps
You'd think " How do you drink that stuff and Why!!!
It wasn't sweet like orange or lemonade
It was another mystery, the strange world... the strange world of the adults.

(Once while walking along the beach we came across this well dressed young man fast asleep behind the sea wall
Lying on the cold ground, a few empty beer cans beside him
Of course we didn't know yet about people getting drunk
We were very puzzled at this scene, we looked at one another baffled
Why did he want to sleep there for ?
Did he not have a home to go to and a bed to sleep in ?
What we were looking at was the World... the strange world of the adults).

The Dads they were always watching the News and talking politics
Once when we were on holiday down the country at our Auntie's place
We were outside playing football
While my Dad and Uncle were inside drinking and talking politics
Arguing heatedly about who was right and who was wrong
Suddenly they both appeared in the doorway, all smiles and strangely jolly like
They said they wanted to join in, in our game
Something they'd very rarely do
I remember looking at them and thinking
These people...these people are in pain
I was so afraid they might fall and hurt themselves
I thought them that fragile
I was afraid to tackle them properly for the ball
I thought I should only pretend
Should let them win, let them score a goal
"Maybe then," I thought, "maybe then they'd be happy".

                          III

They seemed to be always trying their best
But being reined in by their limitations
One Christmas I remember, I wanted things, exciting things, toy soldiers, electric cars, a toy gun
They gave me this small model passenger plane, wasn't even a War plane (no fancy machine guns or rockets)
And this cheap little plastic antique globe of the world thing
I looked to see was there any treasure marked on it, but no!
I was so disappointed, these were ****** presents, not what I wanted at all
But when I looked in their faces, at the expectancy there
Them expecting me to be overjoyed and delighted with what I'd got
I felt this huge pity and sorrow for them,
So I smiled back at them and pretended their presents, they were the best presents of all.

                            IV

There was this tragic sadness about them, the adults
Almost like they weren't feeling the joy anymore, that for them the magic had gone out
Like the little child within them had all but died
You realized that what you were feeling was probably something they no longer felt
They were off lost in some other world
Overrun with cares and worries and fears  
Yea, there was something wrong with the adults I always thought
When I was young
When I was small.
The Child is father to the man, someone once wrote. I sometimes do paintings of my past and when I do, I remember things. Although the memories above are often sad, there were a lot of happier memories too. Given the lives they had and the times, they were truly heroic people.....This is a poem of memories/recollections from early youth & how the young child views the strange often dysfunctional world around him. Children instinctively know their good and beautiful when their young because they can feel it inside them, it's the time their closest to their source, where they've come from. There's this natural beauty present inside them which gives them a great strength. Unfortunately this is rarely investigated & explored. Instead the child is packed away to school where their taught they must compete with their fellows & that their worth as a person depends solely on how they perform at school. School often produces strain though and struggle in the child & by the time they reach secondary school, the traces of that early natural beauty have greatly diminished, & sometimes tragically become just a distant memory. -I suppose this is just a homage to that special time and to those early feelings of Joy.
Simon Piesse Dec 2020
Adults turn schools into fortresses.  

Children frolic on the rooftops.

Adults tape off the playground.

Children dig underground hide-outs.

Adults build moats round their friendships.

Children have fun in the water.

Adults dragoon them into bubbles.

Children salsa with fairies.

Children blow shapes out of laughter.

Adults **** out the future.
As our government procrastinate and prevaricate over plans for schools in the new year, I wrote this, inspired by children's propensity to find play, joy and creativity in every situation.
Hitishaa Goyal Jul 2020
They clap our backs, nod their heads
Look down and distant smile
When we tug at their t-shirts
And ask to be heard

Their gazes wander, and block their ears
Sneak a look at the television
They sit us down, telling us to talk
And in between, stand up when their phones ring

They tell us that you will do great things some day
That the world rests upon your hands
You will climb to the top and pull each other up
But keep pushing us down instead

They tell us that you are the future
And dive out of our thoughts
They think it is an excuse
For sizing us up, and declaring us not enough

Not yet, they say. Not now, they murmur
Have you ever thought that
We don't want to be the future
Because we need to be the present?

That we don't want to lead the world
But instead, just live in it?

That before we want to do things that are great
We just want to live in a world that is?
It seems to me
that as people get older
they mature
not like fine wine
but getting more stale
and more bitter
with each passing year.
Coffee, perhaps?
I know some truly wonderful adults (my mum especially) but I get so many 'it was harder when I was younger' etc. vibes from the adult population as a whole  so this is my response to those people who constantly put down the younger generation with their self-centredness and self-pity
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