September 26, 2019 by thewashingteenian
By apollosbones, Staff Writer
I pour more than just thought into them,
the lyrics I write, to inspire, to include
your generation; the youth of a new age.
The world will grab you by the hair, will
drag you down to the depths of your own
personal hell. But I want to leave you
love notes, voice mails, spoken words.
I want to give you songs that will hold you
closer than your friends, that will sink deep
into your minds — linger on them a little longer.
You, fledglings, are the little birds I want to
help raise. You, my fledglings, are the ones
who deserve happiness. I want to give you that
feeling of jubilation, of hope, of having something
to look forward to, when there is nothing else that
waits for your arrival home. I’m leaving you these
lyrics, these rhythms, these blankets to wrap
yourself in when you can’t even begin to
think about life anymore.
Your generation is a newborn baby,
a book just starting to be drafted,
oh, so impressionable. The world,
society, seems to dig all of its nails
right into your spines, your hearts, your
fragile minds. I want to press my palms
into your shoulders, to wipe away
the claw marks of the world.
I’m leaving you with the world,
but also with this written kiss.