Y

and we grew up in the suburbs of our mothers home

on excitement and adventure: all we had was music videos and high-budget commercials

we listened to our cds and had our dream’s packaged and sold into tv shows, movies, toys, and music

we bought tickets to shows, shopped in malls, and we worshipped celebrities for not living our lives

we’ve never felt the need of our parents’ parents’ parents’…

cabinets full of cans, full of food

we can never go hungry

stores full of closets, full of hampers, full of clothes

we’ll always look new and pretty

we were civilized into excess and grew-up championing our parents folly: its more we need its more that’s gonna fill us

like gas tanks or abdominal pains; even a belly full of torn bread and manischewitz isn’t going to make us full

like an audience plagiarized by creation, we watched the confetti fall from the explosion of the baby boom

…and all the glasses collected on the countertops; even the last guest from this party looks tired

we’ve watched our partents fall apart and magnified by the transparent disillusionment of ‘how it was all supposed to be’

we took the route they told us, or found a road that took us, but at some point we learned to travel for ourselves

we don’t want to go where you’ve been and we don’t want to go back to where you took us before

they call us generation Y, but we’ve spent our lives asking ‘why?’

why climb up trees that never end? why act like we should do what you did, when it’s the drugs you’re on that make you forget your not happy

we don’t want the tired worn bodies from 80 hour workweeks. we don’t want the red face from the beers you drink when you finally get home

we don’t want a home gym or desert tables. we’ve watched the poisons of excess fill you, and it didn’t fulfill you

we’ll take a yoga mat, a trip out west, a piece of fruit, and a journal

if its the ‘doing’ that’s done this to you, then its the ‘undoing’ thats calling us