Holding on

To a gray mass of wrinkles and kindness

Separated from my master

Positioned tall

Solid roots curled into the ground

Separated from the soil

Spread out

Weaving in and out of salty blankets

Separated from the other identical millions of others

Clinging to

Cold, barren walls of jagged darkness

Separated from the sides of the cave

Stretched across

Long strips encased in a glossy wooden exterior

Separated from my family of coiled wire

Coming together

To create a musical masterpiece

Where sticky children will run their hands against ivory keys

And high class pianists will perform to a gaping audience

Where families will gather during the holidays

And broken-hearted teenagers will mix tear and Mozart martinis

A piano isn't just an instrument

Blame Game

My parents lived in a world very different from mine

When Mother had a straight, not curved, spine

When Father never expressed his feelings

When children never cursed, even when they were bleeding

Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?

I get a chuckle, eye roll, and no gold star

Father got a lashing and Mother got a "talking to"

How can I know is false and what is true?

Back then, adults were the omnipotent beings

Now no one will admit that they're seeing

Grown-ups being portrayed as inferior

While the youth is celebrated as superior

Bad grades were blamed on the student

Now the teachers are told to be more prudent

That's just how things are

I must admit it seems bizarre

That two generations could be so conflicting

The life of my parents, so unfamiliar, depicting

Disciplined teenagers with hard work finished

Today they're entitled with appreciation diminished

How have things changed so drastically?

When parents of this generation instruct so passively,

I can't help but think of

The Blame Game

The youth,

With curved spines, bow

To the mighty power of

Instagram

Where two second pictures test their memory

To think empty and effortlessly

And when told to run for gym class,

Groaning,

Like exercising is an indomitable task

In a sea of black, white, and gray

The youth, still bowing, seem to pray

Puffing,

Heaving,

Insides screaming,

These mountainous globs of youth

Are constantly protected and soothed

If they get boo-boo's from iPads

You see, the spoiling and coddling adds

Up

The heaps of previous trips to fast food restaurants spill out

Insides begging for a respite, because, no doubt,

This is the first time someone's ever forced them to run

"My leg hurts, I can't do this, it can't be done!"

So they stop

And give up

Because no one's ever told them "tough luck"

Or "suck it up"

Only told them "pour it out"

Onto paper

Onto paper plates

Because growing up can wait

Remember when we were young?

If caught cursing were told to "hold your tounge"?

When we ate wonder, not gluten-free, bread

When heavy textbooks, not slam poetry, would be read

When running in gym class during school was a gift

When playing outdoors wasn't because we wanted to stay fit

When the sunshine soaking our bones

Wasn't going to affect our hormones

Teenagers received discipline

And there's no time for listening

So they sit down and pull out Instagram

And take selfies while they cram

Meaningless messages of "pride and proudness" down their throats

And those slutty dresses don't need to be covered up with coats

Beacause a woman needs to express herself 

Taunts of nudity and sex dripping down like caramel

Basing facts and opinions on rumors

Attention! This is our future

This is what the previous generation has created

A mountainous mass that will never be weighted

Because, "you're beautiful just the way you are."

Someone is thinking of me

With pursed lips and clasped hands

And that someone’s opinion

Is taking a stand

Someone is thinking of me

With a pounding heart and sweaty palms

And that someone’s opinion

Has been there all along

Someone is thinking of me

With faraway eyes and red ears

And that someone’s opinion

Is all that I hear

Someone is thinking of me

With white knuckles and curled toes

And that someone’s opinion

Is all that I know

Someone is thinking of me

With crossed legs and bowed eyes

And that someone’s opinion

Can never be a lie

And that special someone

Is not very kind

And that special someone

Exists in my mind

That someone is tangible and real

With real toes and real eyes

But that special someone

Wears a disguise

A disguise of a smile

A very clever veneer

Who distracts conversations

Whenever they appear

And that someone is constantly looking,

Watching herself in the mirror

Thinking about herself

And what seems to appear