The Lost Generation Poem by Jennifer Parks

We were the dreamers,
the wishers, the thinkers;
freaks, outcasts, weirdoes-
Barbie Dolls, taken out and played with
only to be left lying broken in the dirt.
We were flowers painted on the wall;
seen, but never truly appreciated.

We were secretly diamonds in the rough;
unable to shine through our charcoal exteriors-
wild animals you never bothered to tame.
Future slackers, druggies, jailbirds, head cases;
destined from the start to get screwed in the end.

Now, our dreams are shattered;
panes broken beyond repair.
Our wishes have fizzled out-
stale life all that remains.
Our thinking caps become threadbare
and our thoughts escape on the wind.
Still, we are freaks, outcasts, weirdoes.

We have become disenchanted with our lives,
disillusioned with the world at large,
broken down by our pain and strife.
Yes, we are the products of our environment;
crops left in the fields to fallow.