Despondence forms in the minds of the lost as they float on in a society that claims to comfort and support their trials, however the truth of it’s nature lies in it’s actions, which tend to be violent rejections of their proposals and ideals. The misplaced find that both themselves and their attempts at society are met with reactions of acrid disdain. A generation can be revolutionary, it can live and breathe in a hazy daze of proud rebellion, but therein lies the problem. A mass will accumulate a sense of family through their interactions and their common grounds, but they pay no focus to those struggling to attach to the rebellion (that when put into society is molded into the norm of that generation). They give no second glance, no renewed opportunity to those who just cannot grasp that which is expected of them. The lost remained lost, the molded remain perfection.

The lost are often beaten with questions over and over again asking them what they want to be, what their career goals are, what they want to accomplish a set amount of time within the constraints of societies eyes. They are never asked what they want to do, what they feel and what they love. The personal aspect of life is stripped while a conformed ideal of life replaces it. This is how it often goes: 

“What do you want to be, Melissa?” The curious voice asked.

“I don’t know.” I say, knowing they expected a well thought out, career oriented answer.

“Well, what do you plan to do as a career?” They asked, curious again.

“I’m not sure.” I say. 

“What would you like to accomplish within the next five or ten years?” They groan, exasperated. 

“I couldn’t tell you. I could even be dead before then.” I say, shrugging. 

I am never asked:

“Melissa, What do you want to do?” With curiosity, a genuine one. 

“I want to write, I want to inspire and I want to think and be beautiful, and believe in things unheard of.” I’ll say.

“What do you feel?” They’ll ask.

“Too much.” I’ll say, again.

“What is it that you love?” They prod, wondering. 

“I love roses, both alive and deceased. I love green grass and inspiring words. I’m fond of revolutionists and philosophy and the stars. I love even more the beautiful state of humanity. I love love and love hate, and I love knowing too much. I love sorrow and not knowing enough.” I’ll say, knowing the list could go on, erratically, and knowing they wouldn’t have the time.