I’ve looked outside for years,
Watching what happens beyond the walls of this house.
Seeing storms get stronger.
Watching weather get more unpredictable.
Crying as creatures die, forever.
Those who are older are here with me.
They sit as I scream.
They say I can’t go outside.
The walls will protect us, they say, plus, it’s not getting worse.
It’s your imagination, child, go out and you’ll get hurt.
But I can help, I say, I can stop this madness!
But they stay stuck in their belief, as unmoving as a rock.
So, I sit too, still looking out.
But slowly, they fade, and their words mean less.
Then slowly, I stand and look at them.
They are faded and gray.
And they look back in defeat.
I look down at them in pity
Then go to step outside.
I open the door made of ignorance
And step on a porch made of hope.
I look back at the house and see that it is fake:
Shingles made of doubt and a foundation made of talk.
I look away and see others,
People who have also left their houses-
People who have enough hope and grit to fix things.
We are the new generation.
We’ve inherited the world.