Generation Y: The Millennials

a/n: a slight attempt at a villanelle, homework from last week 

Do you know the millennial generation?
This poem will teach you some adaptation
We do not just “exist” without “contribution”.

We love seeing the world and hate office jobs
Apparently that equals to being a slob
Do you know the millennial generation?

We’ll “kill the economy” with our avocado toast
But debt and mortgage are your generation’s boast
We do not just “exist” without “contribution”.

Before, there existed racial and gender discrimination
Divisions are only to prevent injustice in our nations
Do you know the millennial generation?

Compared to “wherefore” into “why”, our changes are smol
And it feels bad man to disallow language to evolve
We do not just “exist” without “contribution”.

The youngest is thirteen, oldest thirty-five
I hope this poem has waked your mind alive
Do you know the millennial generation?
We do not just “exist” without “contribution”.

nostalgia

90-words (max) poem challenge, photo prompts

Remembering You 

Roses are red, violets are blue

Every flower reminds me of you.

The petals of your blooming gown

With a hem like a leaf’s blade so sharp,

The thorny stabs have never healed.

I sense you in every corner, every moment 

You’ve spread and left your trace like ragweed –

Weeds, they plant themselves in undesirable places 

Persistent, pernicious, interfering.

I sneeze when I think you are close but every wheeze

Brings me further away from your scent

Honeyed and bittersweet is the aftertaste of when I last left you. 

Dreams of the Past 

I have been suffering from clinomania for three years.

Three years ago, coincidentally the last time I slept in

On sweltering Saturday mornings.

Sunny-side ups for brunch on kopitiam chairs 

Are things of the past for now, I scarf down

Surds and logarithms, going drunk on

Kopi C Gau to drown my equations in.

The sixth school day is mere noctambulism –

Dreaming of but never achieving my well-deserved 

Rest and MSG One Point Zeroes. 

(Both were more attainable, three years ago.)

Mr Toad: A Childhood Story
Where the wind blows in the willows there lives a toad
Mr Toad, as he would like to be addressed.
He has appeared in not only Alastair’s bedtime stories
For he is still plump in my seven-year-old mind,
Where we share the same childish obsessions of
Motorcars, caravans, and aimless fun.
Mr Toad is now a hundred and nine years old
If you counted his warts, I think you would know.
But that does not halt me from going back home
To Toad Hall and the anthropomorphic zone.

social epidemic

a/n; it's been so long, here's some stuff from months ago.

They're all searching, scouring not for

what is lost but for simply more

More to impress, more to fancy dress,

more to disease themselves away from what

is worth more than the price brand tag.

They speed up economic ladders to grab onto

the last rung called loneliness:

An isolated island where you scrape by with

your mountainous piles of money, alone

Ambitious greed grants you this.

They are adolescents 

obsessed with the Kylie lip kit, private yachts

So they feel seasick and are quarantined

from friendships, relationships, love and care

Hashtag #summerhauls 

They are women, who want pearls

across their chests, rhinestones among their tresses

Sparkling, diamond watches that seem to

value more than time; time that flies

when you could be the pilot

But they don't want something free and priceless.

The days have come where carved on headstones are

no longer prayers but "Remember me for my stuff"

Where we lay up treasures on earth, not heaven

This is the epidemic of our generation.