It passes through my hair as the soles of my feet tred on dirt.

Our phones are our fortress, our laptops our kings,

We stare at them with adoration, thinking they're our circulation,

But they are death objectified, so lets raise our wings. 

It isn't always our faults, as we aren't the ones who set the expectation,

As the adults before us chose to set us up with such danger.

It was once a good thing, advertised with great admirration,

But now its failing, and I stare in the mirror at a stranger.

There are impossible standards, things that cannot be reached,

That fill our heads as we scoll on for-you-pages.

If anything though, our feeds shouldn't be preached,

As our minds go through grief in stages.

Grief at ourselfs, grief at the world, grief at imperfection,

As we stare at an image that we can never become.

With stereotypes to be filled without objection,

We become obsessed with the screens, teenagers that are 'stupid' and 'dumb'.

But at the end of the day, I didn't set these on myself,

and my generation didn't set the expecations, more than the people around us.

And the pain that we feel, is to be forced on a shelf.

People say its normal to feel this lonliness, and to not cause a fuss.

But its a pandemic, its a crisis, and without working together, we will all perish,

Into the reflection in the mirror and the black hole in our hearts.

They always blame it on us, so much its almost nightmarish,

But we all must work together too sew together these missing parts.

Lets fix this growing crisis, of our generations online dementia,

By holding hearts in our hands and passing the message.