Something A Wee Bit Different: Discussion Point

There’s a very toxic attitude toward people of my generation that I feel I should address.

We get a lot of stick, but that’s not surprising. Older generations have never really ‘understood’ younger ones, and that’s probably why so many of us spent years being silently angry at our parents. Just by taking a brief glimpse at the rejection of Elvis or other ‘wild’ music, we can see that rejecting whatever is cool is pretty much just What Older People Do.

But this is all getting a bit much.

I’m sick of the idea that we do not work for things. That we are lazy,  entitled, given a ‘trophy just for participating.’ There is this prevailing need in modern society to act like my generation are the worst we’ve had yet – too shallow to care about anyone, too self involved to do anything. Stuck on Instagram instead of becoming hardworking factory employees, screenshotting DMs instead of sitting piously in Church.

But you know what? 

Fuck that.

Because I have seen so many amazing things in this world, and so much of it has been started by young people – particularly women, who, raised by a generation of second wave feminists, have embraced their voices with more righteousness than the Pankhursts ever could have imagined. Why aren’t you excited about that? Why aren’t you PROUD?

We have taken those Snapchat filters and made calls for revolution. We have become a civic minded movement, more aware of our privilege and the injustices of our brothers and sisters. We have become global, and strong. We are a generation imbued with empathy for our fellow man, and leftover rage at our forefathers. We embrace the queer community. We embrace people of colour. We petition and protest despite everyone telling us it will not make a difference. Okay, we’re a little Internet crazy – but social media is the easiest and most effective way to spread information and social justice and that is bloody beautiful.

I’m not saying we’re the best lot of people to be born in history. I’m sure we have plenty of entitled assholes and sleazy sponges too, but I’d say no more than any other generation. So cut us some slack. You use the world entitled so often, but are we? Are we are greedy for wanting homes, safety, a voice? Aren’t those the same things your forefathers fought for? 

Or were they just entitled too?

Quiet Moon

This one’s a bit more awkward than my other poems, but to be fair that’s kind of the point:

I’m a bit
nervous.
Palms slick, eyes squint,
the devil drawing stammers from my tongue.
A bit
awkward.
I know my limbs jut out at uncomfortable angles and my knees don’t always face forward,
but it’s the silence that always gets me.
That hollow soundless echo reaching under my scalp,
tearing hair clumps and confidence simultaneously.
I’m not great with people.
When they laugh, I panic.
When they cry, I offer tea like my mother taught me.
But it’s always the silence that gets me most.
The Unspoken wraiths
digging into my skin,
when all I wanna do is say
“Hello,
you have a face like sunshine
and I’m pretty sure you’re God given
cause your voice
is a fucking miracle.”
All I want to do is
talk to you,
but it never leaves my mouth right,
comes out all slur and sweat and
Stop.

Shannon, you’ll only embarrass yourself again.
These people don’t care what you have to say.
Might as well call it a day,
cause all your ideas are half formed,
all your ideals half compromised,
and they can tell it’s all a lie,
that you’re just winging it
at this point.

Rationally,
you compose lines to convince yourself otherwise,
sit pretty while other people
do the talking.
The world has convinced you
that to be woman is to be silent,
that to be queer is to be silent,
and even among your peers you struggle not to hold your tongue.

You were a quiet child.
Mild mannered and gentle.
Afraid to use your own voice.
It’s dangerous lilt crept quietly
into the night’s calm echo,
only ever heard by the shadows, so.

Speak now.
Let your tongue be a weapon, your words incite revolution.
Redraft your constitution with bare hands,
and if you can,
face silence with unwavering grace.

You do not need
to defend your place in this world,
so take a breath.
Fill your lungs with coal, let your body
be a steam engine and
take you home.