You are just another face.
You are a statistic.
A number that can be manipulated.
You are a small piece of a chart,
Put into a section,
By someone who doesn’t know your story,
Someone who doesn’t know you.
Yet they still put you in a category,
A flimsy piece of paper that holds a significant section of your life.
And they judge you.
They don’t know you,
But they judge you.
To them you are nothing.
You are part of a group,
A group of similar faces
That all blend together after a while.
You mean nothing more to them,
Than a way to get what they want.
They judge what they don't know
When in fact,
They should fear what they don't know.
The next generation,
Rising from fire.
We were raised to be impatient,
To be impossible,
To demand anything and expect everything.
But that is not who we are.
We are not a percentage.
We are not just any group.
We will not
We are the next generation.
We are the future.
We are the children.