The History Of The Day

I am held responsible for things I haven't done and expectations are had of me that will never be fulfilled. I understand that it's different here and that I am supposed to act like an adult, but I did all of that four years ago. And he is the one being childish when all he can say is no. Human beings don't leave one another in the dirt. I remember getting help when I needed it from people whose sole job it was to provide it. I remember being surrounded by supportive and ever-present guardian angels whom now I have to schedule. I remember being young, not a kid, just young, and then not being legally young anymore. I always tell people that age limitations are arbitrarily decided by the government, such as how old you need to be to see certain movies and drink certain drinks. But now I realize that these age limitations that are arbitrarily decided by the government also tell me at what age I have become a capable individual. But numbers don't know. They can't show you the struggle of people older-people younger-than their number. They can't show you the struggles of people who are a little of both. I am the one who knows what I need to do well, not somebody outside of my body, my brain. I am the one who is working through countless limitations only to find themselves lost in yours. I am the one stomping briskly, heatedly, meditating in inevitably crushing despair and a furrowed, sweaty brow mumbling to myself about how I'm not good enough. And your past experiences with people you barely know seems to inform your apparently academic mind on how more people you barely know will act and why. Words meant to inspire an understanding of what's in store, invoke the spirit of this place and time, words intended to be valued by those who received it. You used these words to incite only the deepest of fears. You spent this opportunity to introduce yourself to those unfortunate enough to cross your path to instead unravel your cynical view points like snake bites on the unsuspectingly diligent army of thinkers. Am I expected to call you professor? Perhaps you're a professor of a myth; an epidemic invention of the standard uncaring, listless microcosm caught like game in your big and mighty hunting grounds. Bullets are your words, the gun is your mouth, our hearts are our ears. You assume something so cynical from a crowd of busy thinkers and it's not right. Why should we try to do hard work for a man who fully expects us to lay down and say don't fight? This is my expectation of you: grow up. For I am not some wild beast that you can tame in a single sheet of paper, nor is anybody else. We all have what you may think of as excuses, but what are actually extant understandings of cause and effect that can ruin all of our hopes. You fully admit to having a methodology surreptitious and laborious, which means you are doing it wrong. You are meant to hold us up to the light of your interest and passion and show it to us in as much extravagant detail as you please but instead you undermine our genuine attempts to share in that love and at any moment you could drop us, throw us, crush in your hand. When you next are lecturing, rather than "keep up" say "did everybody get that?"