The Middle: a poem

A response to the term “snowflake” to describe a generation reeling from the constant state of change and tragedy in which we find ourselves immersed.

I am fragile, but do not mistake that for weakness.

I feel easily the pain of others, but I still have my own demons.

You praise one radical and condemn another,

But their bitterness and courage might as well be brothers.

Gratitude may not always frequent my vocabulary,

Yet I know success is not simply to eat, drink, and be merry.

I pity not the ones who react out of fear or rage,

But ache for those who are just acting their age.

I do not move with a wisdom my time has not afforded,

While still wondering what stories history has not recorded.

I detest being defined as weak-minded or broken,

As if my generation imagined words that were never spoken.

We aren’t all looking for pity, some just a chance to change

In a world that’s always spinning and never stays the same.

We are far too young to wish for bygone days.

We’ve no era to reference, and no time to wish away.

The world we have is the only one we know.

But how can we make it different if it won’t let us grow?

Don’t put me in a camp, I won’t swing left or right.

I’m looking for a revolution, but I’m not looking for a fight.

I just want space to learn how to exist,

in the blowing wind of change without raising a fist.

Don’t tell me I’m too weak, I’ll show you on my own,

That I’m just somewhere in the middle of what’s to come and what I’ve known.


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