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The Children Hurt
They hurt themselves.
they shoot poison into their veins,
inhaling venomous gases-
but it feels good.
the children hurt.
lingering in childhood,
yet adulthood is forced
by their environment.
they defile each others bodies,
their temples
broken, graffitied with meaningless tattoos,
stabbed with jewelry in mysterious places,
scarring them with self-inflicted cuts
used to purge them of the pain
of being misunderstood.
but it only eases it temporarily.
mommy, the children.
they’re hurting.
but no,
our parents never realize,
the pain lurking behind plastic smiles
hesitant arms when we hug
because our bodies are so used
to abuse
they don’t know how to comprehend love.
the children hurt,
I hurt.
we hurt.
the children are broken.
there is beauty in broken
broken can be fixed.
we need help.
please,
fix us before it’s too late.
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This poem is about what I have observed from my generation and what needs to happen to fix it