I kept walking, away further and further.
But they chased, with blood hounds.
I threw stones, bled under rocks and waded freezing water.
All along, through the frenzy of the chase I wondered,
If I was leaving trails or erasing them.
I was fleeing, but I was leaving bread crumbs.
I wanted to be saved.
In this big world where everyone is fighting, we are just child soldiers.
All of us, standing in the front line holding rifles to shoot down our friends and foes.
From the day my mother asked me not to talk to strangers, till today when I search for potential weapons every time I am alone in a room with a man, we have been fighting.
From the day I first saw my parents fighting, till today when I stood up to my narrow minded grandmother for hurting my dad.
Every time I stare at the mirror, I see myself fighting depression, fighting self hate.
Every time I draw my stomach in to hide my belly, or do one more push up even though it hurts, I am fighting.
If we took it all apart, all I see is a girl disillusioned before she could even dream.
On the pages in print, in books, journals and newspapers, people squabbling and fighting, and there is pain everywhere.
A small part of me keeps asking why.
Is it really worth it, this degeneracy. Was It always like this?
Does every generation fight this fight? Would my parents when they met each other pull their sleeves down to hide fresh cuts, and lie about why their eyes were hollowed?
Was every generation fighting depression?
They say I am adult now, but I don’t feel like one.
I feel lost, and I know my friends do to. All of us, with our books, entrances, futures and careers, accustoming ourselves, numbing ourselves to violence and despair.
Why don’t they teach us how to be happy? Why do we learn self-defence and arguments and the meaning of intolerance, instead of learning about peace and wonder and galaxies of hopes and dreams?
Why is everything useless If it isn’t a career option, and why are we hoarding memories like tomorrow is only going to be worse?
We go through life like it is a task, one we must complete for no apparent rhyme or reason.
We fight because we have been asked to, because if we don’t someone else will think us weak.
The human race is fighting for its very existence.
Every day is a battle, and we all our soldiers, who are never going home.
In music, in art, in smiles and hugs we find solace, but its always there, the darkness at the back of my head, asking me if it was worth it. If all the bullying, all the miscommunication, all the hate and divide, the prejudice and the thin lines between right and wrong were not enough to just want to give up.