Reid@YWP

They say the world was once wider, 
measured in scraped knees and firefly nights, 
in the space between streetlights, 
where time was counted in the hush before dinner. 

They call us the lost generation, 

but how can we be lost when we see everything? 

We inherited the ruins, 

the sins of the past like notifications, 

the echoes of greed carved into policy, 

With voices like flint against steel,
we strike against the silence,
catching fire – not to burn, but to blaze a path forward.
We are not the dying cinders of something lost,
but the first furious glow of something rising.

HOME: a place where we feel safe, comfortable, and loved. Not  just a physical structure, but an emotional space that provides a sense of stability and belonging.

[Alone in] Laughter, lamenting the lost light,

you don’t want to be the forgotten, the lost cause, the missed flight. 

Reason runs thin when your sadness is bountiful,