Generation Nothing.

They tell us we’re frauds for having our own ideas.

Young is equal to brainless.

Individuality is seen as rebellion.

We’re trying to be “different.”

We’re trying to be “right.”

Why is that a problem?

We’re taking over the world you’re leaving behind.

We’re molding it into our own place.

We decide the future.

Your reign is ending.

One day, you’ll all have passed on, and the world will be filled buy us,

And our dreams of grandeur won’t have been illusions.

But if you keep it up,

All of our plans will be destroyed by our own insecurities.

Because you treat us like we’re useless.

You treat us like we’re nothing.

So we start to believe that we really are nothing.

Generation Nothing.

They ask too many questions.

Why do you pick at your skin?

Why is your hand shaking?

Are you okay?

Do you want me to come with you?

What’s going on?

Do you need help?

Are you sick?

Do you want to go home?

Why won’t you say anything?

What’s on your computer screen?

What are you reading?

Are you okay?

What is your problem?

Are you ill?

Why can’t you come to class?

Why aren’t you paying attention?

What are you writing?

What are you drawing?

Are you okay?

What are you listening to?

Why did you come so late?

Are you okay?

How is she?

Will she be okay?

Are you okay?

What’s it like?

Are you okay?

How bad is it?

Are you okay?

Let me pick. Let me shake. Let me cry. Let me write. Let me feel.

Just stop asking about it.

I’m fine.

The middle of the night is a treacherous place

for those who suffer the curse of the imaginative.

We dream in the day

And we think in the night

And if the two become confused

The consequences are harsh.

We wake up in the middle of the night

Breathless

Numb

Fearful of the demons that surround us.

We can’t scream

We can’t run

We can only lie down and endure it.

We listen to the air howling in our ears

And with lifeless limbs

We try to move.

Maybe it’s not everyone's curse

Maybe it’s just mine.

It doesn’t matter

I have monsters to fight.

So I close my eyes

And I hum my A, B, C’s

And when the feeling comes back

I open my eyes

I squeeze my fists

And I remind myself that no matter what I am

Paralyzed

Standing strong

My demons are always just around the corner.

I’m almost there,

Just not tonight.

As long as she’s safe, I’ll be fine.

It’s happening in another world, as far as I’m concerned. I’m far away from this mess. I’ll be safe until the day these brain-dead bastards learn to commandeer and captain a boat.

Every news channel that hasn’t shut down already is reporting the end of the world. They’re being overdramatic. It isn’t the end of my world, it’s just the end of theirs. I’m not a sympathetic person. They created the virus, now they’re paying the price.

But she’s there. My best friend, my pen pal. I fell in love with her words. I needed them. I need them.

I flipped through all 342 of her letters today. One more and we’ll be at a palindrome again. She loves those. I started to read through every single one of them. I stopped at 104 when she told me that she thought that she might’ve found someone special back at home. I didn’t want to think about it. Maybe he’ll keep her safe, though. I don’t want to think about it.

She was saving up to hop on a boat and meet up with me for a month, where we could finally meet face to face. I hold on to that hope the same way I held my mother’s hand when I was frightened. The virus could potentially throw a wrench in her ability to come here. The virus could stop me from seeing the girl I had fallen in love with.

But even if I never get to see her face in person, I’ll be able to get through the day.

Because as long as she’s safe, I’ll be fine.

The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known

With her mind, her heart, her breath, her tone

She was given my love, she earned my trust

She made me myself, and now I must

Remind us all of how she dances along

With death in her chest, with sick in her song

Others will write to their lovers, I’m told

But my mother- she gave me a hand to hold.

It’s a simple game of hide and find

Of love, of hate, but she won’t mind

That we stopped playing long ago

Because we found and now we know

We have to play, if it’s all the same

But cancer’s not a winning game.

And then there’s hope which keeps us close

With another doctor, another dose

It’s a promise of living, not lived, but life-

A stop to death and pain and strife.

We want to play, if it’s all the same

’Cause we’ll win this ruthless loser’s game.