To the Plastic Bag of Broken Guitar Strings

There you go again: 

Reciting beautiful words 

That no one cares about. 

My broken mouth waits impatiently; 

Your swift fingers sewed it shut 

Before I could really get going … 

But don’t think I have nothing to say, 

This is just the beginning 

Of your chartreuse hypocrisy. 

The blithe girlhood mask 

That suppresses my anger 

Is wearing thin at the edges. 

You had no right to permit 

The dead and dying generations 

To take my future with them. 

The way my textbooks make 

Even dictatorship sound pleasant 

Is a reflection of your limpid weakness. 

Look what you’ve done: 

Your power 

Has burned your eyes 

With its self-actualizing might. 

Look around us: 

The trees scream and try to deny 

But they cannot look past how 

You set the world on fire. 

Can’t you see? 

Can you believe your eyes? 

Are you as angry as me? 

Look what you’ve done! 

Look at the bodies piling beside  

Your ochre intentions. 

This is the burden you bear. 

And so I shall save each penny, write each song, 

Every word, every minute 

To the lost potential 

Of the plastic bag of broken guitar strings 

Waiting on the curb; their story written in memory 

Tired, and resting.