Generation of Cowards

Bravery skips a generation;

mine, to be exact.

I hide under blankets,

in fear of storms.

I lock my doors, 

shut my windows,

and still panic. 

I want to be strong,

I want my father to

breathe again.

But you see,

I couldn't see his face again.

Not without crawling 

back into my den

of self-loathing

and pity.

I want to run,

they tell me no.

They sit me down in their seats,

and make me

and my friends,

run their government.

We don't start wars,

we want peace.

We give the people what they want,

in fear of being disliked.

I wear my mask of bravery,

just like the generation before me.