Forgive me
Mother,

In the age of speaking without conviction
We are trapped
We will not claim our diction
If it reveals that we know what we are talking about.

In the age of speaking to temporary photos
Of artificial comrades
Every sentence ending in “woah” or “you know”
To mask the raw, bleeding emotion inspiring these words.

In the age of celebrity in seconds
Of viral videos
Of “running on the 6 with my woes”
It is taboo to care from deep within your soul.

In the age of plastic surgery
I will not agree
To change my body
For your approval decree.

In this age, I refuse to attach an imaginary question mark
To the words cutting trenches in my veins
I refuse to do constant impressions
Because faux processions are already infesting this nation.

This age
Was destined for better
And if you still don’t believe,
Reread this letter.

Sincerely,
Gen Z.