The Things We Don't Talk About

We, the Young

We, the young, surrender our bleeding hearts. Our heads are hung. We're done playing these parts of naive little kids, sweet, people pleasing, and kind while you completely tear us down and rid us of our feelings and our minds without a care. You're still keeping score, but you don't play fair. It wasn't long before we learned it was all a ruse—you pretended we had a choice, that we could decide. But now we've got nothing to lose. Plan B is suicide.

We, the young, have screamed and screamed, collapsing our lungs as you just laughed at our dreams, saying we were too little to understand the complexities of things while your egos were too brittle to admit we were drowning in your cities that you swore were safe. Now we witness our fellow children die and watch you pretend to be sad at their graves, putting on a show with your crocodile tears because your kids survived, so why should you care about anything more than looking like a good man to any voting eyes that stare, then later calling those same grievers unreasonable for wanting a ban.

We, the young, give up our values that we have clung to. I guess the lives we're living are fake news. The fear we feel must be because of our phones, not from hearing our brethren cry for their mamas in their last breath of life. I guess we won't understand until we're grown all the violence we saw with our very own eyes and why it's a murderer's right to conceal and carry so they can successfully kill their victims from a distance without a fight but it's a crime for two girls in love to marry. We're too young to understand why being ourselves needs to be punished and corrected but hating and hurting others is just fine. Telling us to sit down and shut up, that we're all soft and affected when Karen can't even quietly wait her turn when she's next in line.

We, the young, have gone from riches to rags. Our last bell has rung, so we sit on the sidelines with our little white flags. We're tired of these fruitless fights and all the covert narcissists we see on the news and all these exhausting sleepless nights as the one percent refuses to wear anyone else's shoes. It's not complicated or a topic for debate—lives are literally on the line while you charm and put on airs. And then you berate us for paying attention as you shake hands with the devil and seal our fate and waste time avoiding the real issues as you focus all your attention on splitting hairs.

We, the young, who you broke and maimed, let our last song remain unsung, too tired to finish this malicious game. We watch as you lock your security gates and listen as you tell us not to be afraid while leaving us out on the streets as bait, letting us lay down in the bed you made while you get all the beauty sleep you've ever wanted—the deep, peaceful sleep only known by the ones who have never felt unsafe, the sadists who have the privilege and inhumanity and lack of compassion to be the ruthless hunters instead of the vulnerable hunted.

We, the young, gravely wanted you to lead us as promises and promises were flung to appease us and deplete us. You want us to trust you after years of broken promises, years of lies and deception and malicious intent and harassment and exploitation and forced kisses that we can't report because you hold all the cards and it's not what it looks like, it's not what you meant. After years and years and years of trauma and neglect and abuse and the world on our shoulders because of your weaponized incompetence, choosing to be ignorant and remain obstinately obtuse, we've had enough of waiting around for the greedy to gain common sense.

We, the young, aren't so young anymore after stolen innocence and after all the blood and tears and violence and gore, the fear and anger and grief and pain, fighting with every single nail and tooth to keep the little sliver of sunshine invisible to the naked eye in the middle of the thunderstorm and rain. We grew up too fast and you took all our youth. If you want to blame anyone for us getting involved in the fight instead of being the kids that we are and acting our age, you should look in the mirror because that's all your fault. If you lock us in cages, don't act surprised when we revolt.

And don't be surprised when we win because, we, the young, have never been fine and we're unafraid to pull the pin and throw the grenade at the walls you built around us to keep us in line. So, watch your back and keep one eye open when you sleep because when we attack, everything you've sown, we'll make you reap. You've had your reign of terror, but it's now done. Trust us, our bark has nothing on our bite. This isn't a statement or a stance or a rebellion. This is our lives and you're delusional if you think we won't fight.