You're Very Bitter for your AgeMature

I am twenty-two.
I am the woman
Who gave up long ago
On a future I should have deserved.

I gave up on dreaming
of a house to call my own
When I was little more 
than a child.

When older people told me why
I said have you seen the cost
And they told me all
I had to do was
work harder work more work like I did.

But I am.

I am under twenty-five.
My government refuse to see me as important
Living wage? Those so young don’t need to live
Don’t need more money to waste.

Everything is about that money
money to live money to eat
money for education higher than school
That if I had, would be pointless but as I don’t I’m seen as stupid.

I work.
And I dream
and I’m told to work more
and to dream less.

I’m told it’s my own fault that
I can’t have a house
(Maybe if you get a boyfriend he would have a better job?) 
I’m told if you want it you would grab it and take it
I have- and it keeps slipping though my fingers.

They call us entitled. 
And above our station.
The older generation that think we
Expect what we don’t deserve.
But what they cannot-will not- see
Is that all we are trying to do is find a piece of ground they
have not broken before our feet touch it.

I had hope
You see
This tiny grain of hope
like the sunbeam between the clouds
But like the weather it was stolen away
but the same people that keep telling me to 
Work more better harder faster.

I am twenty-two.
I remember-
A decade ago
Wondering what would happen to my future
and if the recession would ever even end
I remember
Even then
wondering if I would ever have a job find a home
know what it is to be stable and safe.

And now
I see a country who would rather
be filled with hate
than acceptance and care no matter
our backgrounds

I see
the same generation that told me
to work for my future
laughing in my face and making my future
dust clouds and ashes and fear and uncertainty.

They tell me my future is mine to grab hold of
Then rip it out of my hands and smile when its done.

I am twenty-two.
And I have been told my whole life
never to give up on the people around me
But to see the hate on the streets and murder on the news
and never ending fear about what will happen next
I wonder if the people around me have already given up.

I am twenty-two.
and this world is filled with war and death
and hate because of the colour of skin and the direction of a heart
and the way people pray and because of difference difference difference

I am twenty-two
And how dare you comment on my bitterness
when you judge others without seeing their smiles.

I am twenty-two
And I am entitled to be fucking bitter.

The End

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