Everyone loves to point
At my generation and say
“Look at them,
They’re so fucked up:
Children are slashing their wrists
And parents find bodies
in every room.
They hide behind screens
And drive each other insane.
What monsters are these?
Who could foresee
An entire generation
Turning out so horribly wrong.”

But nobody ever
Looks at each other
And questions how they
could raise a generation
Who slashes their own wrists
And take their own lives
And say awful things
To push each other
closer and closer
to the brink of death.

Nobody questions that
maybe the problem
Is not just the children
But rather, the parents
Who looked past the scars
And sought excellence
over sanity
Who demanded
perfection
Yet never preached
acceptance.

Because who wants
to blame themselves
for a generation’s problems
When they could look
at mere children
and call them monsters
Instead of son and daughter.

We Are Not The Problem by a.k.s (Mine, please do not remove caption)

it’s just
you said you’d listen to my story
after you were done on the phone but
when i came back you asked what was
“so goddamn important”
i couldn’t stop nagging you about it
and since it was something stupid i was just hoping
would make you laugh so
i told you to forget about it

it’s just
you said you’d read my writing and
not laugh at it but in reality
i’ve never stopped being a joke in this family
because in middle school i wrote dark short stories
where the main character died and yeah in retrospect
maybe that’s funny but
there’s also a reason why since then i don’t
show you anything because at thirteen hearing you
refuse to take my work seriously
didn’t really make me feel like laughing

it’s just
you said that school was important but
at the same time would get so pissed at me
if i stayed up doing homework
all i would hear is “why didn’t you start this
earlier” and when i tried to explain i had other things to do
i was told “i don’t want to hear it just get it done”
and when i ever mentioned that i was stressed to the point
of breaking into glass pieces
you always rolled your eyes and said “you don’t even
know what stress is” even though when i asked for help on projects
you’d barely even look at it before
deciding it was too difficult

it’s just
you’ve never said
that you’re proud of me
only told me the things i should be fixing like
how i’m kind of getting a tummy and my hair is always
messy and how i’ll never get married if i don’t start
being more mature and how i need to work on being
the perfect student or i’ll never amount to anything and
i need to patch up my personality

i don’t know but
when you asked me why i’ve been
“so distant lately it’s kind of bitchy”
i got as far as
“it’s just”
before you said
“don’t start with me.”

i don’t know what you want. i wish i could just
leave.

"Are your parents supposed to make you hate yourself?" /// (r.i.d)
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