The next generation

This isn’t a pity poem

who the hell wants to read one of those?

but if I’m honest

which I’m not very often

preferring to put on a mask and sit mutely smiling on the outside

it’s sometimes harder to pretend and say nothing

than let it out

if I did let it out

what would IT look like?

am I really so bad for having an urge to share?

the empty feeling inside

surely that’s how we hope to fill ourselves

with something other than hot air or quiet despair?

one thing worse than peripheral is rejection, so usually

we stay quiet about how we really feel incase it’s true

nobody really gives a damn once you’re grown

how I got to this juncture is the easy part

a girl is born, her gender is already

a strike against her in a world easier on men

we don’t treat girls very well

maybe there should also be a rule against small families having smaller families

call it what you like, I call it diminishment

I was diminishing before I was born

when there’s nowhere to go, you usually strive to go up

but I was bad at direction, turned into a box turtle and hid in my shell

hoping someone would pry me out

that was my second mistake

generally it’s worth noting, people do little for free

if I could tell myself that I’d have said; Don’t rely on anything but you

you end up staying inside too long by yourself

before you know it, even the language you speak

taints your chances to pretend to be normal

I look

at photographs of other people

they are surrounded by people, fitting in like

well crafted pieces of puzzles I do not fit

I was the kid sent off to eat with other families, never my own

it felt like a kick in the shins then, and everytime since

feeling ackward in a crowd

because I didn’t learn how

to belong

so this isn’t a pity poem

i’m not chafing with self imposed isolation

not the girl who smiles when she’s crying, or maybe I am

or the one who feels more alone when amongst a crowd

everything is so quiet when that’s how you’re born

it takes a fortitude I don’t possess to break the cycle

erase the twenty years forming a tongue without social skill

I hear the sounds of a party rising over the walls

a party I could be at though, I know

i’d be pressed against the wall without a way out

though all I’ve ever wanted is to learn a way in

i whisper

i am irrelevant in this scenario

self worth is tied to others even as we know it comes from ourselves

i didn’t generate any faith

so I don’t believe in God or me

but I do believe in you

if this was a pity poem I’d ask

why you didn’t help me learn how to live?

though I know the answer already

you couldn’t do it yourself, what chance for me?

we’re cut from the same cloth, you and I

that’s why we both hide

like the man in the high tower

did he ever feel as lonely as I do?

why didn’t he need

the things I cannot seem to reach

it’s like I am stretching out for them

but the betrayal of beginnings and everything after and before, is too deep

we betray ourselves most of all

in trying to be what we just aren’t able to

a teacher once told me you can be anything at all

that’s a lie I know it

we each have chances and some of us have fewer props

so we stand ackwardly by the side

trying to be someone we’re not

until the inauthenticty feels like a curse

we revert to type even as we dislike who we are

this was set in motion before we knew

we’re just the next generation of lost

not self pity, no, more like a pain

a mere poem cannot do justice

26 thoughts on “The next generation

  1. 💜. I feel some of this pain. Not all, cause I can’t but yeah, pressed against the wall completely out of place looking for a way out, yeah.

  2. The title, I think is very suitable for the content of the poem, especially here:

    “I hear the sounds of a party rising over the walls

    a party I could be at though, I know

    i’d be pressed against the wall without a way out

    though all I’ve ever wanted is to learn a way in”

    So many of us fight for a place in life, some of us create our places.

    I love what you’ve done with this one, it’s causing me to reflect.

  3. I know some injuries, hurts and pain aren’t easily erased… may your heart & mind find peace in the certainty that you are worthy & you are loved

  4. Cut, not to precisely the same pattern,
    But, oh yes, the same cloth.
    Still a stranger in a strange land,
    The ways of the natives mysterious,
    A wanderer in search of a tribe,
    Grateful that there are poets.

  5. This could be me (many others too) when you write “I look at photographs of other people they are surrounded by people, fitting in like well crafted pieces of puzzles I do not fit”

    And this part … I can almost hear daughter asking me “why you didn’t help me learn how to live? though I know the answer already you couldn’t do it yourself, what chance for me?”

    No pity, only gratitude for the comfort of your words.

  6. First this is your story and you have every right and obligation to tell it. I think you might be surprised to know how many could tell this same story or one similar if they had but the courage to do so. Why do you think there are so many people in the world trying to be like celebrities and such, even to the point of almost if not selling their souls?! This world is HARD, HARD, HARD! It is not our home. We’re here to learn lessons and lessons are never easy and almost always exact more of a price than we really hoped we wouldn’t have to pay. Others need and want to hear our stories so they don’t feel so alone and diminished. If there were no God, there would be no hope that there is some purpose for all the suffering. And that is just something I have ever been able to reconcile myself to. At 19 I turned my back on God and walked away from the church. Then in my 30’s and 40″s I went through a very cynical stage and my mantra became life’s a bitch and then you die. But God wouldn’t let me be. When I began gardening, I became acutely aware of everything serving a purpose. And it makes no sense whatsoever, that it would be true of everything but we humans. I certainly don’t have all the answers and the older I get the more questions than answers I have, but without a hope that the Hands that created me and you and everyone else has created us for nothing more than the misery in this life, I’d have ended my existence long ago. So I turned my eyes towards Him and began listening and now I know as in the words to that song I posted last week, there comes a time and place when our worries and fears and disappointments have to face the God we know and love. I know not what my future holds especially now, but I know whose Hands in which I’m being held. And He will either heal me and restore my health or bring me home. My advice to anyone is something I had stopped doing and started up again since I found out that I have breast cancer. I can either count the shit that has come and continues to come my way or I can count the blessings that have come my way ESPECIALLY the ones I didn’t expect or deserve. And the latter is far less smelly and far more heartwarming. You have been given a great talent, one that I wish I had been given, so use it for some higher purpose and open the door to an encounter with the Lord God Almighty with NO EXPECTATIONS about how or when that might come. Mine came decades ago with the overhead tinkle of a tiny wind chime on a beautiful springtime day. But everyone’s is different because WE are all different. Je t’aime!!!! 🙂 ❤ xoxoxoxoxoxo

  7. See my latest post as a poetic response to your relatable blog. Thank you for reaching me through the ether. We probably would have lots to yack on about in real life. 🤜🏻🤛🏻

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