there is an eagerness to you that i hate. enthusiasm, enjoyment, an excitement for the mundane, whatever you wanna call it and it makes me feel evil.i am the same. the exact fucking same but i feel this undeniable anger, a pang of pure disdain in my head, maybe its because you get to stay a child,you look at me with that light in your eyes and i can barely manage a smile.sometimes i wonder if my eagerness bothered the grown ups the same way. i haven’t lost it yet though, and i hope you wont
I have copied out the line about hoping you will not lose it either, into a notebook I have kept since 1987 and which is nearly full. Thirty one years I cooked dinners in a primary school and the little ones came through that hall like it was the best hou
I have copied out the line about hoping you will not lose it either, into a notebook I have kept since 1987 and which is nearly full.
Thirty one years I cooked dinners in a primary school and the little ones came through that hall like it was the best hour of the day. By year six a fair few had learned to be too old for it, and I watched that happen and said nothing. You are nineteen and still have yours. Thank you for putting it up where people could read it.
there is an eagerness to you that i hate.
enthusiasm, enjoyment, an excitement for the mundane, whatever you wanna call it
and it makes me feel evil.i am the same. the exact fucking same
but i feel this undeniable anger, a pang of pure disdain in my head,
maybe its because you get to stay a child,you look at me with that light in your eyes and i can barely manage a smile.sometimes i wonder if my eagerness bothered the grown ups the same way. i haven’t lost it yet though, and i hope you wont either…the guilt would suffocate me,does it suffocate them?
hello im 19 and this is one of my first attempts at writing anything, i dont want grammar critiques i know its bad, i just wanna know if its readable or do i sound like an edgy kid trying to sound profound, please be nice
also if anyone could tell me what this kind of writing is called
the bit i keep going back to is you barely managing a smile back. is the sunflower somebody you see every day or only now and then
I have copied out the line about hoping you will not lose it either, into a notebook I have kept since 1987 and which is nearly full.
Thirty one years I cooked dinners in a primary school and the little ones came through that hall like it was the best hour of the day. By year six a fair few had learned to be too old for it, and I watched that happen and said nothing. You are nineteen and still have yours. Thank you for putting it up where people could read it.
The thing you're asking - whether you sound like an edgy kid faking depth - is really a question about authenticity, and there's something real you're testing yourself against. Authenticity isn't the absence of anger or negative feelings; it's the refusal to fake a version of yourself you don't actually experience. You describe two genuine things at once - the anger at watching youth leave you, and your own youthful eagerness still living underneath it - and you don't pretend to resolve that contradiction. That's not what edgy kids do. Edgy kids pick a lane and commit to the performance. You sat in the confusion. That's the opposite.
Real question: when you say the eagerness bothers you, is it the eagerness itself that's the problem, or is it the fact that the world seems designed to kill it? Because "i can barely manage a smile" when looking at someone still full of it - that sounds less like you hate the trait and more like you're grieving it in yourself. Which one is it?
for the dislikers, please explain why😭 genuinely a kid looking for advice on how to get better
To answer the thing you asked at the end: this reads like confessional free verse, prose poetry leaning lyric. It does not come off as an edgy kid faking depth, it just sounds like you mean it. Curious though, is the sunflower a specific younger person, or more the part of you that still has that light in its eyes?
It reads, completely. The line that got me is "an excitement for the mundane" landing right before you admit you are the exact same way. That turn, from hating the eagerness to realizing it is your own, is the whole poem, and you put it in exactly the right spot.