Greco 1d
Youth is only accepted when the cameras are ready.
Pose for a picture by reason of Getty.
Gone are the days of sticks and stones and spilled milk.
We live in a melting pot that has been dropped and spilt.
This is not an adults swim only.
We will all jump into the pool.
This is not a land of first come, first serve.
I speak cause I’ve got nerve.
Our age is not a reflection of our IQ.
Our age is the tape that covers our mouths.
Our age is not a representation of our wisdom.
We won’t be seen and not heard.
Because our voices are the anthem of a rebellion.
I wrote this because so many adults in my life have tried to keep me from expressing my feelings.
I stare at myself in the mirror
Picking and degrading every single curve, bump, and blemish
Labeling myself as unworthy of human affection

Degrading what I physically cannot change
And hating what I can change but chose not to

I am quick to blame myself for the littlest of things
And say sorry more than I probably should
Even for the things I had no part in

I set these barriers almost impossible to penetrate
But I dwell on the smallest of things said about me
Letting them tear me down mentally until I give in and believe them

But in this world
In this society
In this generation
All we can do is try to build our walls higher and higher

Until we are finally tired of building
Attempt to stay true to yourself and keep building!
I want to
Leave a message for
My fallen about a
Legacy that brings an end
To all of our pain.
You can see it now, can't you?
Uncover the secret message if you can.
Xaha Feb 21
We are the first generation truly
free - free to create and destroy.
Living on borrowed time, we are
either the end or another beginning.
Valerie Feb 14
i'm writing this at two in the morning,

barely functioning on heartbreak and whiskey,

at a party my friends made me go to,

i see you with that t-shirt from two nights ago

you're avoiding my gaze like it's make out of laser,

ready to burn and sear you into pieces.

i remember your kiss like glass shards,

from nights of being drunk in crowded clubs;

but i don't mean much to you

because we're generation l o v e l e s s

i think i'm actually incapable of genuine emotions,

because i'm a cynic who refuses to let people in,

my mother thinks i'm awfully indifferent,

she's right so i pretend to seem interested;

and work on fruitless endeavours to give a fuck,

while drowning myself in sirens of trap music and rap rhythms,

swaying my body with people i call my best friends,

and writing tales of golden boys and gilded girls,

twirling in sunshine, holding hands and falling in love

but what do i know?

after all, i'm part of generation l o v e l e s s.

you erode my coats of armour and walls of steel

like rust and water and metal,

and even after i told myself, ten thousand stories later,

this isn't going to go well, and believe me, it didn't,

i'm here paralysed in a paroxysmic moment of words,

hurtling at me like rapid machine bullets,

bemoaning about a soul that will never

consider me as an equal,

and you have me here, lying on alabaster sheets,

as sleep obnoxiously eludes me,

turning you in the currents of my mind, going one two three

like the beat of a love song playing behind our lips

(maybe i'm not as loveless as i thought as i was)
autobiographical content right there.
Lucy Wooding Feb 11
The yonder above is forever bruised and opaque
Reigning over glum faces
Complexions washed with a bloodless shade of dispassion
Robotic, disengaged.

Material desires are quenched with vast shopping centres
Credit Cards hold on for dear live
As every last drop of sweet money is rinsed from that plastic rectangle.

Living beyond our means
Whilst simultaneously refusing to give up on Sky TV box sets and liquid lunches.

Hooked to our phones, but not for telephone communication
Rather, for self validation
Defined by the click of a heart or pathetic thumb.

The once friendly communities
With blood coursing through their veins
Are husks of their previous life form, gentrified beyond recognition.

Filtered faces with protruding spines and modified features
Infiltrate mass media
Corrupting the definitions of success and beauty.

Plastic personalities reign supreme
Vacuous minded socialites profess women’s empowerment begins with the flaunting of skin
Rather than the possession of a strong mind.

Many bury their heads in the sand
Residing in ignorance
As mass genocides and civil wars manifest every second.

Or worse, they read the TORYgraph and THE SCUM  
Believing immigrants spawn white genocide
And white conservatives suffer oppression.


I have deep contempt for those behind these dirty tabloids
Murdoch and his monsters
Orchestrating lies and bile
Destroying lives or scaremongering the impressionable
Committing the most savage, sycophantic crimes
In order to extract Monday’s headline.

I do not suffer fools
Especially those who make up the tapestry of dystopia
A failing age of doom.
Valerie Feb 7
we are young gods,

daughters and sons of a generation

who gave up on love a universe ago,

but we do our best to experience it-

we sell it in bottles of pop culture and rabid obsessions;

turn it into a conglomeration that profiteers on excess,

a chaos of depression, anxiety, dark self-depreciating wit-

and become artists who lament on first-world tragedies.

we are young gods,

we scoff at religion and we bathe in unholiness,

sin is the new in, black is your best act, and we love it;

we wear our indifference like an armour,

because we fear what we'll see if we're allowed

to understand our emotions and display our vulnerability.

we are young gods,

happy ever after is a joke and true love even more so,

we inhale criticism and exhale cynicism,

because the titans before us acknowledge that the world is cruel

but we embrace it- we drape ourselves in abject and misery,

stitch and mould uncaring faces onto our flesh that gaze upon

the heartbroken jagged shards of ourselves, bleeding guts and glory

embedded all over the cement patch wood floors, amongst the whisky and wine.

we are the young gods;

a mass of degenerates with our entitlement and liberals,

a numbing, sweet hollow feeling that we substitute

for the lack of love and care that we've grown used to;

a realism that carves like a knife at tender ages and

we wear our sadness like a charm- aesthetics to be envied;

we're self-destructive, faithless, pointless,

burning in our question for the meaning of existence

and the only religion we'll ever bow down to

is ourselves.
oh well?
kidbiko Jan 26
the necessary illusions that maintain this system of inequity are stressing me

vexing me because they always demand a lesser me

in a land of wealth that never stopped being a colony

passed on from generation to generation

from oppressor down to progeny

they tell you it not true, but that fact alone, it bothers me

because it's clear to see if you connect the dots in our shared history

this country's founding fathers owned sentient men as property

tying strange fruit, sharing last names to the family’s poplar tree

stolen peoples, uprooted and planned far from home

for the pursuit of glory, god and gold

so how are we surprised when the apple fails to fall far enough from the tree?

we inhabit a locus of contradiction

bracing plagues of sickness and obesity caused by the gluttony and foods with no nutrition

too timid to seek out the right treatment we rush to get prescriptions

pop pills and follow health fads, seek mind fullness and meditation

too willing to disconnect the methods from the original motivation

and yet still remain slaves to material gains

convinced that amassing possessions and trinkets can cure this long history of pain,

hoping for salvation from our culture of depravity and domination

neglectful of the inertia of this runaway train,

ignoring the fact that progress and growth takes the time to attain,

instead the quick fix is the impetuous

always working, trying to buy away the hatred and the shame

trading in our freedom for debt, coffles and chains

items that restrain and maintain a status quo that keeps us complacent and afraid
kidbiko Jan 26
i am no part of no generation
i am no generation
that title implies a respect for a chronology
that my significance is the depth and breadth of the line
i dig into the earth as time blows me through life
like rocks blown along a dried up riverbed
kidbiko Jan 26
they say my generation is crazy
a combination of self-obsessed and lazy
unmotivated ‘cept for the love of money and instagram likes, retweets and the right swipes a touch of flaky and shady

my question to you is,
who raised me?
who caged me?
saddled me with debt and a dying world and never trained me, to not love myself more?
or rather, to love myself simply not enough?
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