My Generation

1 in 12 of us have written our goodbye letters in English class

and planned the trajectory of the bullet in biology class.

We have to watch our friends

come to school with pink scars on their wrists,

hoping that they never go too far.

Drug dealers lurk behind every corner,

waiting for someone to say yes.  

Rapists ignore our “No’s” while hiding

behind “boys will be boys.”

1 in 5 of us girls will

have a crime scene between our legs.

We can’t wear shorts or drink alcohol,

if we do,

we’re asking for it.

We can’t make love to our boyfriends

without worrying about dying from a disease

or being deemed a slut from someone

who doesn’t even know our last name.

1 in 7 of us will be ruthlessly bullied in school,

but have to hear “But these are the best days of your life!”

11% of us won’t even graduate high school,

even those who do may never find a job.

We have the same brain activity as psych-ward

patients from the 50’s, but we can’t ask for help,

because we’ll be accused of seeking attention.

You can still call us this generation

even though we obviously don’t have a choice,

but to be worried about ourselves in this corrupt society,

that we were born into,

isn’t consider normal.