We sell our youth for money(a poem)

So much misunderstanding the world grows weary and so do I,

though darkness seeps as the sun falls till I rise…Bleary eyes and bleak skies shiver in through every imperfect crevice and a sliver of wind blows,

I shiver, midriff exposed and suddenly the eyes cling onto me – judgemental, some appreciative, rest are faux understanding.

They asked me if it hurt and I laugh at their naivety,

nothing hurts more than when you’re low on money because we sell our youth for money, struggling today for a better future(or so we are told) but when we sell our youths and souls,

where do our growths go(apart from the wrinkles that intensify with time, from creases to deep lines)

My worst fear used to be death itself but I now I realise the death to be feared is the death of our dreams.

written by Emily Yu (yuemily.com) on 11/11/2016
Photography of featured image by Carmen Zeng | Insta: @camrennx

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Design student | Sydney

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