Generation Why?
(This poem was in no way written in my feelings I was thinking about how the
children that perform these acts of violence in todays society may fee being an
outcast myself I understand some emotions that can be caused by cruel youth
however no child deserve this)
I forgot my books today but remembered my gun,
Not thinking twice about taking your son,
I am tired of being the outcast the pain followed by giggles at my expense,
Now they'll know why in my head this makes sense.
My incurable feelings incurable thoughts,
My custody fighting parents and the gun they bought.
The top shelf in the closet buried deep within a box,
Along with the despair as classmates words bruise like rocks.
You could blame parents, the media, the music, politics, the walls,
But on this day I am blaming the kids falling in the halls.
Inside I scream for help but only laughter answers my cries,
Darkness inside can be seen in my eyes.
My should understands that this is sadistic,
Now your children are becoming a statistic.
No one will win this popularity contest,
as there is only grieving parents left to contest.
Last generation listed as X,
This one is whY no room to express.
My final note written in a shaking hand,
Will Death be forgotten in time with sand?
Copyright © Dawn Bartlett | Year Posted 2006
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