You tell us.

Parents think they know us. Because they once were one of us. Young, and immature. They think we have the same intentions and the same ideas rolling through our minds as though there is a young version of them burning inside of us. The younger generation. As though we care about the same things, and as though they care about us. But they tell us we’re all just full of ourselves. they tell us that we are like a piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit right, and never will. They tell us to work harder and harder, working us to the bone while we pore our tears into school assignments they tell us define our intelligence. they tell us to suck it up because “it’s only high school” and all of this blows over. But sometimes it doesn’t blow over. There have been people of the young generation who deal with trauma, neglect, heartbreak and hurt that doesn’t just blow over. It causes PTSD, anxiety, depression, that won’t just blow over. We have bruises and cuts from bullies who love to hate, that won’t just blow over. Yet we are degraded and told that it doesn’t matter. That, the boy who broke her heart is one of many and shouldn’t be a big deal. That the F on a test isn’t the end of the world. But you know what? Anyone can fall on the ground and begin to bleed. Some people see this person and tell them that they won’t be hurting for too long and they need to just get up. While others see this person, and want to reach out and make sure they are okay. The person who fell just needs a little boost up, a little encouragement, and a person who can feel for them. Because the blood from the fall is still there. You can sit there and say it will slowly wash away, or you can go over there and clean it up. Some falls bleed more than others, but in the end, everyone is falling. Everyone is bleeding. Everybody needs someone to catch them. And some of us, don’t have anyone to do that. Some of us live under a roof of hopelessness and doubtfulness with parents who minimize our feelings and make them feel so small. Like we’re that freshly sharpened pencil, ready and prepared for what life has for us. We work hard and fight our fights. We get passed around and stepped on. Used and unappreciated. Until eventually we snap. Yet we’re told that it's a part of growing up. They’re not wrong. But they never sympathize for the kids who need it. Parents, listen up. Just because you made it, doesn’t mean your kid will. Telling them to work hard, won’t make them want to. pushing us harder only makes us fall harder. So please. Dig deeper and see the world through your kid’s eyes. They see things much differently than you did. And you’ll wish you never put them down.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Our world

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