Generously Juvenile

Welcome aboard,

To this era of a plethora of opportunities, where time is a luxury that we can't afford.

Everyone's in a hurry, but no one's on time.

"How are you?" Is always greeted with an " I'm fine!"

Shaking your hand, they proudly say "I'm a professional!"

But FINE stands for "Freaked out, Insecure, Nervous, Emotional!"

And yet they'll never show it. They'd cry and you'd never know it

We're the millennials. We're complicated.

Nokia connects to the internet, but doesn't connect people,

Going online on being sad, seeking validation,

While the hands waiting to hold you, are still collecting dust

As they ask "Do you really trust them more than us?"

"A nameless, faceless stranger, who's half a world apart,

Can't possibly know you well, you're mistaken, sweetheart!"

"No you don't understand, you're the one inflicting pain"

You reply, as your face emits volumes of disdain.

And that's when they start to wonder

"Are millennials always complicated? Or is there more than this to discover?"

A Ferrari passed by a school bus, what are the chances?

That's when dreams and nostalgia, exchanged glances.

One wished for a rewind, the other, a fast- forward.

Neither was happy, yearning for their realities to be altered.

And all of those so-called "rich man's toys",

Couldn't manage to make an empty heart leap with joy,

The situation was typical, the message- subliminal.

That millennials, are complicated.

She stands there, waiting for him to confess,

But afraid of rejection, he flees, takes an egress,

Their hearts are aching to scream the three words,

But their tongues are tied, and the echoes pass unheard.

Another guy came to her, kissed her, said "You're one of a kind"

And that's all that it took, for her to change her mind.

Say what you need to say, don't fret

Else a complicated triangle is what you'll get.

We don't believe in ourselves but in our selfies,

Preaching life advice that we often never practice,

Attempting to fill others' cup with positivity,

While our own is either broken, bereft, or empty,

It's a state of paranoia, don't blame the Monday blues,

The hardest person for you to love- is you.

Yes, we're difficult, and there are manufacturing defects,

But the beauty lies in admitting that we're not perfect.

It's never too late to work on your flaws,

You may just be moments away from applause.

We're all in the same game, just different levels,

Fighting the same hell, just different Devils.