Young Writers Society

Dear world,
I’m tired.
You hear it over and over,
The ‘bustle of humanity’,
The ‘roar of the city streets’,
The endless squawking of a billion children lost in the dark,
And sobbing for mommy,
Only mommy never comes.
And I’m tired of it.

I’m tired of the self-effacing morons who constantly conform
To the antithesis of nonconformity,
Unaware of the lies that spew from their holes.
I’m tired of the constantly discontent who soap-box on and on
About their problems and woes so loudly that one can’t think
For the mountain deep rabble that overflows from the sewers of their minds.
I’m sick of all the hypocrites who rage about sloth and injustice,
While not doing anything more than that;
Rage in their simmering cesspools
Deep within the poisonous lead cauldron of humanity.
And I’m sick of being one of them.

Yea, you heard me,
I’m one of them.
For all I know,
I may be the worst!
And I don’t care.
I recognize my inadequacies,
My inconsistencies,
Then I toss them out the window of oblivion
So they can spiral forever in my gravitational field
Of teenage drama and angst.

Angst, angst, piss, bitch, moan,
That’s all that’s left of me anymore.
And you know, I used to write because I wanted to.
I used to sit for hours in blissful concealment,
Pouring me into ink to print on paper
To bare before the judgmental eyes of others to read.
I used to search and search for that one word that fit me,
That one word that I could place in the sunlit snow of myself
So that I could be complete.

Now I have to work my mind to the bone
To put myself into the words that are already there.
We’ve changed places, switched roles,
The words are the ones who write me.
And why?
Because every other damn person wants me to!
Because I’m one of them,
One of the ones I created.
I'm a character in my own story,
Only I don’t know who’s writing these pages!

And guess what world!
Dear world,
Who has done me no wrong,
Who has sheltered, and fed, and given me all I could ever need,
Do you want to know something?
I hate living on you.
You with your polluted soul,
Acidic water, poisonous air, and human infested skin,
You disgust me!
You make me sick.
And you know what else?

I could stand you, yay, even love you,
If it weren’t for the plague,
The terrible infection of humanity on your flesh.
If it weren’t for the people,
The inhuman humans,
I could stand you world.