Young Writers Society

Two things are in a box

Humanity on the whole

And a camera

A simple camera

Picture your standard polaroid and there’s your camera

What’s the subject of this experiment

Are we the controlled or the variable

Well we’ll never know

The experiment begins too soon to show

The camera clicks once twice thrice

Delves deep into humanity’s soul

Pictures deftly through humanity’s ardor

Snapshots into humanity’s essence

Or presence probably presence

As our essence doesn’t go for much

We’re beautiful balls of fire

Dreadful kaleidoscopes of pain and passion

Putrid with power sacred with soliloquy

Dense with drama left with laughter’s loveliness lying lazily

Down the way of the weeping the weak the wasted by wickedness

Begging for a change

We’re tired

Can’t you see it

Eaten by hopes crushed too young and told to grow up

As infants we lie smothered in the dust of the older generations

Told the same things by their older generations

They too told the same things by their older generations

Again told the same things by tHE OLDER GENERATIONS

It’s a vicious cycle

Never ending never satisfied never amounting to anything

Full of hurt of loss of unfulfillment

Anxious every other step till we hit the grave

What we don’t measure up to we inflict upon our children

And expect them to carry the weight of our debts and desires

Tell them to grow up another minute sooner

How long

How long will it take before you and me watch him and her

Barely owning a first breath but already holding a briefcase

Full of shattered ambitions

Cursed to die slowly over a handful of torturous decades

Just waiting out the years till they can stop screaming internally

Till they can stop bleeding internally

Till they can stop counting every step every decision every moment internally

Till everything stops externally

This is where we’re headed

Somewhere superficially pleasant

But underneath millenia’s worth of rotten to the core

It’s overused over-trite over-finished

We’re overused over-trite over-finished

It’s nobody’s fault you know

I said it’s nobody’s fault you know

Well not entirely

History repeats itself

Are we clones or mere copies

We don’t want to be like the older we’s

Choking on their words and deeds

We look up to the stars for a reason you know

Longing for better

Longing for something new

Longing for a difference

A markéd difference

This is a call to difference

A difference I want to see

A difference I want to feel

A difference I want to hear to smell to taste

A difference I want to make

But not the difference

No not that kind of difference

No, not the difference I want to make alone.

.....

this was originally written in english 111 as a rap verse by someone who can't rap and sort of turned into beat poetry by someone who doesn't really write poetry so idk it's some form of beat poetic rant you decide :D