Children are like canvases.
Blank and ready to be seen.
I just hope the parents decide its appropriate to conceive.
I'm hurt because mine never meant to receive

Teenage kids
Here to raise one of their own.
A structured home and support,
not something in my home.

Adults demanding something
they never learned how to give.
Now I'm 27,
just learning to live.

You see i love my parents.
But I hate them too
I hate the judgements from older fools.
A wise man listens.
A fool babbles.
Babble all you want but my life can't be compared apples to apples.

We all have cards dealt to us
So this poem isn't to sulk.
I dedicate this to those like me
Looking to love in bulk.


© TheUpsetMillennial