They say to us,

"This generation knows nothing,

they're only children,

what do they know?"

But they don't know the battles we've fought,

the fear we faced,

the weights on our shoulders.

They look at us,

"Maturing so quickly,

foolish children,

why aren't they enjoying their youth?"

As they also yell at us to grow up,

pile their regrets onto us

and make us live out their dreams.

They sneer at us,

"They're all

just foolish children 

thinking they know love,

writing all this poetry

when they've never even experienced hurt."

They don't realize that there's no minimum age for love. 

That maybe,

we've cried rivers before

over heartbreak,

over memories,

over lies.

That maybe, our hearts are still

breaking,

remembering,

listening.

We're not foolish children,

but the future that they never want to accept, 

and will continue to shame

for the rest of our lives.