Kids These Days Are So Entitled
Kids these days are so entitled.
Get everything
they think
they need.
New clothes
New phones
New meals
when
what is served doesn't suit.
Like shoes from last month--
nothing less than the latest.
We blame, and shame, and
whisper
their names around
quilt frames,
we claim
our seams run straight
intentions pure.
(I'm not so sure)
We think and deceive
ourselves to believe
these hands
are clean.
Not grasping truth:
we also
seize fruit
not meant for us to consume.
Dopamine dream by another name
we selfishly sow
our own tidy row.
Delight to the eyes
intent to be wise.
Then cast stones
toward the crop
a generation will reap,
and we weep
and we speak--
Choosing platform
over alter
pausing seldom
to discover--
We don't change children
by shouting from sidelines:
"Why are these kids so entitled?"
-------------------------------------
I'm unsure whether this poem is
finished, or still a work in progress.
Likely I'm breaking some unwritten
rule by publishing when that is unclear.
Ah well, C'est la vie. This process has
been invaluable in teaching me it's ok
to write a lot of not-so-stellar things--
growth of a skill isn't glamorous.
A friend shared the opinion that she
thinks this poem might belong in the
category of spoken word poetry. I suspect
she is right. I found myself dramatically
speaking lines aloud as I wrote.
I'd love to hear from those who play with
poetry. Is your preference structure and
rhythm or do you wander into the weeds
of free verse?
I'm not particularly poetic but I love your poem and the thoughts in it. It's thought provoking and perhaps doesn't need any finishing touches!
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