Today, I am wearing a backwards baseball cap on,
because I am a terrible person.
I commit horrendous crimes, for which I am not arrested for or
thrown in prison for. I am so guilty, yet so free.
Some even say that in a past life I was Hitler, Stalin, the entire
Ottoman Empire in 1915, and Harriet Tubman’s former “owner.”
I drive a car that has tinted windows and turn the music up loud.
I can see you, but you can’t see me. And for that,
I am a disgusting excuse for a human.
Yet as I look at my own life, I don’t see the mar left by
the articles I wear or what I drive. I don’t necessarily see the
good things either, but I definitely don’t consider the butt end
of a keychain hanging out of my pocket labeled as,
“subject to be an odious person.”
The question is, and always has been, “Is it a stupid youth?”
What about those that came before us, have they ever been the
targets of this discrimination of immaturity?
Regardless, our generation will someday be told,
“Don’t be mad that the kids are mad because
their parents are mad at them.”