I watch the raindrops dance again,
out here in gentle quietness.
They wash away my salty tears
and offer me forgiveness.
I dance with them barefoot among
the falling leaves of Autumn's kiss,
each raindrop leaving trails upon
my skin, so tracing rays of bliss.
They patter on the gasping ground,
their healing sings a soothing rush.
As evening falls, their lullaby
brings soft a tender hush.

Lord, raise my hands and guide my feet,
let me another pathway meet.
Conceal my pain and break my fast,
Lord, light the dark that eats my past.
And when I trip, Lord, help me stand;
pray, hold me in your loving hand.
Have mercy on my faithless heart
and show me kindness as I start
to walk the way you've made for me;
release my chains, Lord, set me free.

Dear Generation X,
Please take a step or fifteen back,
if that is what it takes to make you see
that some of you are thoroughly misjudging me.

Dear Generation X,
Please stop sh-tting on me when you
see me in a low-paid job because you
think that I'm uneducated, when in fact I'm
earning my own money to help fund my education.

Dear Generation X,
Please don't patronise me every
time I raise my voice with an opinion
of my own, prepared to eloquently argue
up against others more than twice my age, restraining my
own temper so that I remain polite, whilst condescendingly
you reply with "you're a little brat" who should "f-ck off and find her manners."

Dear Generation X,
Please refrain from moaning about
how the youth of today's generation
never have anything intelligent to say
when you place gags in our mouths, or that we're all too thick-skulled
and should go back to school, whilst simultaneously shouting at
us all to "get a job" and "buy a house", when many of us are drowning
in student loans, granted for gaining the knowledge needed to bag a "decent job."

Dear Generation X,
Stop trapping me.

Grown adults can act
like poor, sad, childish bullies
sat behind a screen.

She flickers softly, hoping that
no one will see her glowing.
So every day I watch her simmer
on, instead of growing.

This tiny spark that warms my heart
each time I catch her beaming,
her dimpled smiles and catchy laughs,
the murmurs as she's dreaming.

A lantern for my darkest days;
So willingly she came.
So now I need to feed her light
and save my little flame.

We fight.
We always fight.
And it always ends in me leaving,
Me yelling,
me slamming the door,
me crying.
And I hate that I'm so hard to deal with,
and I'm sorry...

I yell.
I always yell.
And it always ends up in you pleading,
you crying,
you apologising,
you shouting.
And I hate it when you cry,
and I'm sorry...

You try.
You always try.
And it always ends with us crying,
us hugging,
us forgiving
us talking.
And I hate that it takes so long for me to say;
*'I'm sorry.'

There.*
That look of disbelief.
But yes, I am. So I'll be brief:
I am an actress.

"What?"
I know, I'm really not the kind
of girl that quickly springs to mind
when people think of those inclined to say
"I am an actress."

"But..."
I'm quiet, self-reserved and shy,
that girl who never seems to cry,
the one who never meets your eye, but yes,
I am an actress.

"How?"
Because you think this mind of mine
is great, that I am sitting on cloud nine.
For though these mangled thoughts creep up my spine,
You seem to think my life is fine,
so whilst my sun appears to shine,
I am, indeed, an actress.