Letter: A poem on behalf of our generation

Being stuck in the endless struggle of paying bills and working overtime for adime. Millions fighting for a doctor’s visit without a phone call from debt collector and poverty’s specter of a vicious cycle that recycles.

We work hard and get pushed far, over a cliff, taking hit after hit, being asked to give our votes, riddled with the quotes of past figures, they ask us to reconfigure our spending while recommending we go to school to avoid the way of the fool.

Student loans drain our souls, a job pays us little and the stress slays us till we’re brittle, leave us in the mental hospital, get out to feel the belittle and go into remittal, no acquittal from this nation’s lethal enigmatic riddle.

How do you make money and find a honey when they got you constantly runnin’?The low-income Americans seen through a prism of lies by the eyes of elites in the skies, unheard are the cries with no supplies, they offer a near guarantee of failure under the guise of a prize of success.

We downsize our expectation while maximizing our innovation, they dictate our destination and destroy it with runaway inflation, a sensation of confusion and dread, dead ahead is another road of struggle.

Pull up your boot straps, get ready for the next attack as they ransack our finances with bills, loans, low paying jobs, and 64-hour work weeks. A generation raised on a lie denied by elites who decry our courage to fly into diversity, spending our money at a university and being given financial adversity.

These struggles roar on and on. No end in sight as the nation rages, turning the pages through corona and dystopia, where is the hope when our problems are never attended to?

Peter Atterberg

Huntley