Picking Bones.A Poem by Brett MooreIt's expected, says the data.
That corporate pocket watch plays catchy jingles to all these smug, commercialized independents. Idling, self absorbing, cyclical, pointless. Happiness is provided for you in 30 plus miles to the gallon of an absolutely finite resource. Pero a quien le importa? MTV launched a new series called, “OMG, LIKE, BABIES, OR WHATEVER!!" and we all LOL (lose our lives) watching it. My generation is like, so ratchet. I mean FML, right? My generation is sexting, fist pumping and laziness with a spray tan and matching middle finger attitude. We raise our children with empty values and fret over them with digital eyes, too preoccupied for proximity.
My brothers and sisters can see Paris fashion in real time, and never leave the living room. We are experts of places and objects we have never seen or held. Wikipedia's graduating class of .com scholars.
My generation is enslaved to loans and collections. Credit. Debit. Credit. Debit. We are the b*****d children of loopholes and unpaid taxes and fat government handouts.
I can receive compensation for filling out a job application. I can bite the hand that feeds me ...apathetically. I can sue the coffee maker for selling me addiction. I could get rich for not trying. However, my generation prefers the viciously vicarious.
We are better entertained by it. © 2016 Brett MooreAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
367 Views
5 Reviews Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on January 16, 2014Last Updated on January 18, 2016 Author
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|