teenagers can relate

I don’t ever think about my age until someone says something about it. I feel that I have wisdom, experience, knowledge and a point of view that is important. Can a teenager relate to that? Probably not. But that’s OK. I understand that. “Relevance” is a catchphrase that people throw out because we live in a world full of discrimination.

That moment when your highschool self emerges from the depths and whispers “hey have you considered listening to some 2004-2008 rock music? Listen to sad and angry white dudes sing about how hard their lives are so that teenagers can relate to them?”

I’m other news, I think I’m unfortunately gonna jump down that miserable path for a bit. And y'all should tell me your terrible high school rock music you listened to too.

I keep seeing comments that some white people aren’t watching The Getdown because the majority of the cast is made up of black and latinx living in the inner city? Okay, and? So because you can’t find a way to relate, that means you’re going to miss out on a good show? I didn’t know how it felt to be a wealthy white teen who went to the best schools, but I still managed to watch shows like Gossip Girl and 90210. And tbh, the not able to relate part is such bull. So you don’t know what failure feels like? Puppy love?  Parental strife? Not knowing where your life is headed? You don’t know how it feels to be a dreamer or have a dream regardless of what anyone around you says? Never seen anyone get mixed in with a bad crown? To be a teenager? But you can’t relate right? But you can relate to superhumans, supernaturals, and scheming rich kids Yeah, okay.

Here's a poem:

Self harm is quite the habit;
the never ending urge to end it.
it’s not always with a razor blade.
sometimes it’s with the word grenade.
it’s not always on the wrist or thigh.
it’s not always the red river that never runs dry.
I know the harm and self hate.
and yes, I know every teenager can relate.
but when does this become too much,
the stress and the hatred and anger and such?
when can I say it’s enough?
when does this life become too tough?
when does this become a choice?
when do I get my voice?
my harm is self inflicted;
I know I am the most wicked.
the fact is, depression strikes
and takes away my favorite likes.
it comes to me not once or twice,
but everyday like I’m it’s vice.
I sleep too much or very little.
I break down, I am too brittle.
but soon enough it’ll say goodbye
and I’ll think I’m okay to say nice try
but prematurely as always,
it comes back, but in different ways.
the first time we met was in middle school,
I told myself that I had one rule.
Never cry in front of Dad,
not even when I’m sad or mad.
never give that satisfaction,
never give him a reaction.
I know I might be a little dramatic,
and this poem is a little sporadic.
but hear me out until the end,
and hopefully you find the trend.
some may say this is all fake
but who are they to say that for Christ’s sake?
the second time we me was my freshman year.
my heart was broken and everyday I shed a tear.
but that wasn’t the reason,
maybe it was the season.
maybe it was the stress,
or maybe because my life was a mess.
my mom got married and he moved in,
I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
not because he did something bad,
but just because they made me mad.
you see,
he was in MY territory.
I already knew that from the start this would be trouble
but all I lead on was that I was okay alone in my bubble.
the third time we met I wasn’t surprised.
but I thought maybe this time it can be categorized.
this is the time that I can be fixed,
and that doctors know all of the tricks.
sadly I spoke too soon once more
because I was honest then got called a whore.
that’s when we met, my final fear;
I lost all hope, the end was near.
I was ready, my fears all gone.
I was done being played like a pawn.
I gave up hope
and said a final nope.
We met that night, on the brink of death,
soon to take my final breath.
one last thought crept into my mind,
who will I leave behind?
that thought stuck with me,
and I thought of one person.
We met that night; this time I won,
but I know that this battle isn’t done.