"millenial" poems
Millennial is what called in this generation,
Everywhere here and there,
There are always youths who really never care,
And never been worried about their future.
In Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and Messenger,
Are consists of follower, liker, reader and including seener,
Loitering and using fake accounts just to gain a wholesome money,
Even though that it is notorious, they still embark their blunt journey.
Most millennials are undisputedly addicted to social media,
Their lives depends on likes they are going to gain,
They don't care if their faces might be inside of multi-media,
And they don't even care if it will give them a pain.
Some truly go beyond their limits just to have a lot of likes,
Perhaps they are fame ***** but they don't care if someone strikes,
Strikes every part of their body including their faces and such,
Yet they don't care if it will hurt them too much.
However, seeking attention in the cyber world isn't a good thing,
Instead they should focus on things that are essentially free like a king,
Because in this generation, too many people are unaware and careless,
And some they didn't even notice that our environment is already full of fraud either hypocrite and genuine people are less.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
1995 saw the start of Generation Z,
the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology,
Millennial 2.0,
caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones.
They say we’re adaptable,
but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything.
They say that we don’t care about anything
except for our tiny little screens,
but they forget who put them in our hands,
and they forget who they run to for help
when they forget how to troubleshoot.
They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age,
Caught in a crossfire because
Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006,
the only difference between two decades being
how much neon versus how much chrome,
and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was.
We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember,
and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001.
Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September.
I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings.
The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life.
We are always fighting— fighting for everything.
Human equality,
posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living.
None of us are older than 21,
under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country.
We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion,
the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in.
Fairytales.
Generation Z.
The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology,
the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health,
Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes,
who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade.
We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces.
They say we’re too sensitive,
but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized.
And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
No I'm not jealous, you are
millenial me seeing green with that
type of money, I'd hit the cams
if I didnt look ugly in my head at least
for a shot at that kind of money
maybe I should deal drugs instead?
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
You think you know me.
I think I know you.
We know nothing
As we move forward
Slouched in our office chairs of despair
Some moving full throttle, the others stay still
Still
All in the same place
All at the same level
The illusion of movement
Competitiveness run amok and awry
An experiment gone wrong
An experiment in our endless longing, our search
Our eventual journey
As we seek greatness and perfection
While shattering the thought of it.
We have been taught to question
Questions bring greatness
Greatness is what we long for
Greatness has been subjugated
No longer an aspiration, but a trade
Not a product of inspiration
But a product of greed
Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
What once was an abstract concept
Is now concrete
And invisible
Nothing
A black hole
Constructed from the shattered hopes and dreams
Of millenials and those who felt like we do throughout history
What does "millenial" mean anyway?
In every context it encapsulates
Consumerism
Greed
Selfishness
Hypocrisy
Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
And we killed it
We dealt the death blow.
We lack heart
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with greatness
Greatness comes from accomplishments
Accomplishments come from knowledge
Knowledge comes from aspiration
Aspiration comes from inspiration
Inspiration...
comes from the metaphysical heart
The hollow men had no soul
and neither do we
We lean together
We do not embrace
We do not take the next steps
Only leaning
We lack what we need to see it through
We are incapable of maintaining relationships.
For our stamina is gone
In its place, divorce, infidelity,
shallowness
relationships based on looks and dreams
dreams of perfection
based on the wrong definition
We are the hollow men
We are hollow
We are... despairing
Despair
why would we despair?
if we did not care?
are we then hollow?
if we worry,
is that not out of concern?
is concern
not out of love?
does love...
not stem from the heart?
Sometimes I wonder
Can you still have a heart
If you have a mind in the way?
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
Millenials.
The world ******* hates us.
We whine for a living
We feed ourselves with Xanax and Prozac
To remind the world that we are broken
Problem? I don't think so
We accuse the world of being awful
We accuse life, a life we have not lived yet
Of being too cruel when we are the ones
Who cut ourselves open for a heart we long to love
We look for the kiss that will heal our self inflicted injuries
Well, dear millenial, "there is no tyrant like a brain"
We will keep cutting ourselves
Keep drinking ourselves to sleep
Keep poisoning our mind with this "Golden Age Thinking"
Until we understand that
We are stuck here.
And life does not need to be good to us
Life owes us nothing.
Poetry and Paintings won't save the world.
Do it yourself
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
of legendary origin
encroached upon
throughout the centuries
by human fear
seeking protection
near some venerable shape
you stand
aloof
silently balancing
symmetrical circles
of roots and crown
patiently oblivious of parks
and buildings made by those
who vainly walk in awe
to grasp the mystery
in touch, in picture, meditation
of otherness unmoved
plantlife millenial
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 8:16 AM UTC
They call us "Millennials"
The internet dwellers
Post and make your status
Hey! Have you read the rumor in campus?
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram
Snapchat
We live with these app
Faking ourselves and crap
Sharing your pictures so happy
Though your mind are so ******
Insecurities
Intimidation
Jealousy
We know it by every "Liked"
I want to be her by every "Share"
Why I can't be her in every "Love"
Anxiety
Depression
This is what we suffer
Millenial Fever
A post can overwhelmed our feelings
Living scratch into us until evening
"What's on your mind?"
"What's happening?"
This is our struggle
To be me but also not me
Welcome to our generation
We are Millennials
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 3:52 PM UTC
My generation is swarming
With new kinds of witches.
Some will be obvious,
Lurking and spitting, throwing
Daggers from the corners of every room.
But on occasion, one will be covert,
With sweet dresses and
Beautiful hair cascading down her shoulders.
Greeting those around her
With a charming smile and wide, bright eyes.
But she weaves a web of deciet and triffling words,
And as she speaks, she clouds your mind, speaking
In foreign tongues which are not
Of this true world, until you
Are caught unaware, for her spell has been cast.
You blink, confused, and look down at your hands,
Trying to ignore the impending sensation of insects
Creeping up your arms
Until you realize.
You realize that her spells are not those of darkness and horror,
They do not come in forms such as toads, dark clouds, or anguish.
Her power, her only power
Is that of one way time travel.
And when she casts her spell, her words take you back
To when you were simple, childish,
12 years of age.
Her words come out in flames,
Painful, cruel flames that scortch your heart,
You fight back, begging her to stop
And realize the pain she is inflicting,
Until you suddenly notice that the words are meaningless.
Words, painful words,
But from a child's mouth.
And you stare at her in horror when your past self
Flees your being while her's remains.
Her words, still shooting from her mouth, now
Small, plastic bullets from
A child's gun.
They sting your skin, but no longer scortch your heart.
She then flies away, charming smile back in place,
Leaving you swaying in utter shock, praying
That her next victim will posess your same
Awareness, and sense the truth behind the flames.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
Sometimes wonder if I have synesthesia
Or something like it
Cause for me I associate colors and animals with people
Cause I see time as a map in my head of memories and images of greenery and snow and memories of my life instead of seasons so that I can cycle through the hours of a day in class periods on weekdays viewed as memories of the class, and walk through the past which takes a sharp left at the year 2000 and from there on the flatness of the millenial years drops off into a sloping textbook
Cause sounds and words have textures on my tongue, notes tickling my taste buds as they spill out
Cause I can taste electricity which has a surprisingly dead flavor
Cause I can describe colors with texture and it makes perfect sense to me even though my friends say it cannot be done
Because if I don't, I don't know what the hell to call this
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
An acid raindrop
Burning the last of the crop
Dusty barren soil
Marks the end of the millenial toil
Work until your hands are cracked
And you're crippled and broken backed
You work to pay to be free
The new whips of slavery
Mr Taxman comes to your door
His theft I do deplore
All I have to spare is change
And he acts as if deranged
A continent fractured for greed
A little more ivory is what we need
While sickly babies wail and perish
Without a moment of life to cherish
But do you shed a single tear
No, only hate and fear
You are an enemy
To my country and to me
As atomic rainbows cross the sky
In warring peace, we all shall die
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
Glistening sea **** eye contact - infinite intensity
Filling the gap in between our fingers, stuck in millenial concordants
Taking photos on your polaroid of ravens and maple leaves
and black and white silhouttes of you.
Not, Clicheing//Different Socks on each foot
Watering Daisies on the pavement where we brushed past each other
Criss crossing parallel rail lines paved across the universe
Lost Stars.
Biting our lips to the blistering cold weather,
gloved* hands *stitched together.
Me loving you,
You loving me,
in naturale.
as of now, as of forever.
I'm the ragged, plain white canvas and
you're the most supercalifragilisticexpialidocious painting.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 3:55 AM UTC
When I wake on the steps of humanity,
I see the peril, the plotting, the running and the hasty implementation of torture.
For your children, we shall give them a crate and bowl and force them to live amongst their own feces to mold them into the industrious working class we so desire,
anything looking like upward mobility from the ditches we cry in.
For your animals,
we shall embalm them richly on your wall for you,
to gaze on with fond memory the corpse of an animal you never knew wholly,
merely the discipline you enacted on it to conform to your standard.
Never knowing the child without the work,
unable as a society to accept the being as what it is beyond all the standards and labels and cross-references of psychological history used to define your character and your place in this plane of existence.
At no time capable of committing to validating the true nature of the beast in every single conscious being on Pangea,
because, listen, listen closely,
in this jazzy age of deep beats and lack of swooning amounts of emotion,
you need validation to exist.
Confirm, tune in, download your inner interface to the great program,
and you shall forever be condemned to role of worker, or corporate building block, you lucky duck.
Feed the system as it so graciously has fed you access to knowledge,
filtered and just the right temperature for complacency bred by millenial laziness and hopelessness.
Or drop out, and matter to none.
What is it going to be?
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Sometimes I don't belong.
"10 things all women do",
screams the headline
Not me, I think, scrolling along.
"every man should try this", demands the caption.
And I just sit here thinking, not for me.
Do they even understand a fraction
Of what it's like to be
Here, in the middle, in between?
"just another queer millenial"
Is that what they see?
Can it really be that they reduce me
To that? Because I know
That I am so much more
But still, this is a blow
That strikes hard
And it hurts.
Am I allowed to cry?
Under which of society's odd rules should I
Handle my feelings about this?
Because men, as it is,
Are unmanly when they let tears flow.
Women, however, are expected to do so.
Now what do I do?
I could lose myself in thinking this through
Over and over again.
My circling thoughts never come to a halt.
There's just this one thing I know:
It is not my fault
That I can't seem to fit in.
That's the way it has always been.
One gets used to it, you know?
Just keep fighting and grow
up to be who you want to be.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
In another life,
I built several great palaces
by two hands,
brick unto brick,
until they sat
pristine and shining,
in their halcyon
newly millenial bliss
until the caretaker took ill,
and vanished.
so my great palaces stand, still
though in disrepair,
the whitest of elephants this side of le petit trianon.
their windows adorned with spider-leg-cracks,
vines twisting and caressing the parquet in replica Halls of Mirrors.
the royal apartments long ago looted,
pipes burst,
and a river flows into a third story drawing room.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 10:32 PM UTC
I try avoiding emotions.
I'm a criminal,
and they're bounty hunters.
I fear my mind.
They chase me down.
Syrens echo from behind,
pinning down thoughts
with "love" on their badges.
God forbade happiness.
I took a chance
and ran through the storm.
He threw lightning and fire down the road
but didn't stop me.
I said,"To hell with it";
the clouds finally parted
and bade,"Amen."
The sun was brighter.
I talk to an owl
who's more than a friend.
Our youth's gone with the wind.
He doesn't know how much this means.
**** it might be too late.
That never bothered him none.
Visions come and go
with Hollywood scandal and rumor.
And I envision peace
like the millenial I apparently am.
I ask myself,
"Who do I think I am?"
Another man gets shot
and services air on the news.
The uproar gets absurd.
We burn dinosaurs
and holes in Purgatory.
Now we live in digital Hell
but there's no place like home.
Confrontation takes zen
and throws it to the dogs.
It runs through my mind like,
"Who do you think you are?"
Must it come to this
every time I think?
My afflictions may never be heard.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
lines like these
not necessarily logical,
nor biological,
could be the edge,
that you hedge,
your fund,
you bet,
places with names,
that explain history,
but add to the mystery,
of crossing,
naive before the
millenial age,
turned fully two,
if I don't know you
I won't trust you know who,
borders,
now armed and ready,
steady lads steady,
barbarians at every gate,
then silence the critics,
if asked politely, peace?
fingers following a raised edge,
contours, that sweep from
mountaing tops, that have
never been seen by theses eyes,
shadowed valley, holds surprising
refresment and all this so far away,
along the ridge line
slow to descend,
until we see that this beauty
borders on brightest city of hope,
borders on the mystery,
borders without ends,
of desire.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
Reverberations resound,
Airwaves surround,
The Holy Ethereal
Transcribes my Soul Sound.
I yearn for freedom,
I sing for heartsease,
I beseech the firmaments,
That musicality conceive
A New Dawn; Millenial Fawn;
Material-Realm Transcendence;
Spiritual Efflorescence,
O, my Spirit is hearkening unto
The Holy Dove's cathexis.
Write from your heart,
Sing from your soul,
Unravel the Perdition
Until The Vestibule of Lightness unfolds.
Dream in stratosphere;
Achieve upon The Terraqueous Plane;
Ascend The Earthen Spire;
Know we each bleed the same.
What is music without love?
What is Heaven without Hell?
The Elemental Legacy beckons you higher,
Legion fatidic arbiters conspire
Rendering self-sovereignty a liar.
Open your eyes,
Unfurl your heart,
Sing to the Aethers
That The Spirit never depart.
This is Musicality's Manifesto,
This is Destiny's Diminuendo;
Therefore,
Know the blaze, fathom the burn
Of unquenched ardor, unyielding zeal;
With passion within, ye
Shall never fail,
So pilgrimage Life's Mecca
Bearing its sacral travail.
(Se' lah)
Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 12:17 PM UTC
she's no deva of mine
no caterpillar concubine
no cocoon consort
no butterfly courtesan
she's four tigresses in one
suckling, wandering, denned and leashed
And I'm following the track of them all
She's my white tigress of Nanjing
and though I haven't ever practiced kungfu nor qigong
I have applied to be her jade dragon
Or at least one of her green dragons
In order to help her to reach one of her nine illuminations.
So I fused my qi and ching and shen
and turned myself into a Knight of the Order of the Porcupine
and offered to gently tatoo with my quills
Her mound of Venus
with a motto of invisible yet immortal ink saying :
"Qui s'y frotte s'y pique"
Written phonetically [kisifrotsipik].
I thought because I sat just like a buddha
I was at that moment a buddha
I thought that if I breathed like a green or jade dragon
She'd let me have a bite at her immortality.
No way, my tigress said :
You just can't be and have been
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 5:28 AM UTC
I don't think that I love you,
But I think you're the one.
I think that I'll love you
**** don't jump the gun
Shut up
Shut up.
SHUT UP.
Just chill.
3/20/14, 3:04 AM
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
Methane bubbles from lake
floor to surface.
In winter hang
suspended in ice,
waters block.
Millenial fermentation
of leaf, fish
filtered through
pristine crystal
And what emerges is
hot air and gas,
aroma of
subconscious musings
Mind whiskers
picking up on
preternatural meanderings
Unfurling the chromosomal
flag
Read, write and deepest blues
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC
The only way to get through everyday
without incinerating your soul
is by sending multitude of messenger pigeons
to drop millenial post cards
at fluctuating frequencies at the juncture
of the mail box of your heart;
as a wick to a flaming reminder.
Soul reads the post card sonourous,
sitting on a wooden stool with a gashed crack
running through the middle
beside the dimlit green forlorn bedside lamp.
Heart ardently listens while laying silently
beneath bereft layers of warmth.
It read "You can't be the only moon that revolves around the Sun/You can't be important to someone all the time."
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
We are the generation
With our sorrow etched into our skin
And swallowed down with the morning coffee
Fingers crossed that tomorrow will be better.
We are the generation
With our lives plastered on screens
And written in the history of our web
Desperate for affirmation.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Bifurcated, broken thing,
longing to belong again,
hangs with hangmen from a string
along a wall of wallowing.
Speak of pain, he speaks no more
but rasps his voice against the door.
Save me, sir, what is in-store?
Salesmen smile and take the floor.
Cauterized with spit 'til dry
lies the spider with the fly.
Of one, blood made two one-alike.
Awry, awry, what's left is right.
Lonesome at last what alone begins,
ten hundred is but ten handfuls of ten.
The hunted, hungered will soon bends
as all are lost as all will end.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 4:29 AM UTC
Ya ever read a book
N think
**** I'm in this book"*
I am Sarah Grimke
Sally from A Nightmare
I am Jodi Picoult's
version of a heroine
But it isn't much a nightmare
But a life so much like mine
Just lacking uncertainty
Regarding fear
Anxiety
These women knew what to do
And I
I feel your mission
I know why you did what you've done
It was so clear, but
for me,
who is my enemy?
I want to hide
Under or in a tub
So long as
You can't find me
Is this my millenial
sloth, gluttony?
We try try try
Nothing becomes of it
You are so drunk and you say that
You're dying
I ask you,
What is your insurance policy?
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
surely I must realize
this is all about deceit
the buildings fall, I've seen it all
insert, press play, repeat
the shadows from our future
fall on the gentle and the meek
the buildings fall, we've seen it all
insert, press play, repeat
surely you must realize
this will all lead to defeat
the buildings fall, you've seen it all
insert, press play, repeat
its all been read and seen and heard
there is no one left to meet
the buildings fall, I've seen it all
insert, press play, repeat
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC