Emo

We sit alone on curbs, with our eyes shifting shyly.
We are anarchy.
We carry acoustic guitars with deeply-tuned strings.
We complain of being completely alone --to our friends.
We satire a suburban cliche, in million-dollar homes and outfits.
We believe money only drowns us in our misery even further.
We are deprivation.
We don intricately-designed lace prom dresses and Chuck Taylors.
[And women's jeans, if you're male]
We write in black spiraled notebooks.
We write prose of pain, love, and any other emotion found in "the pictures".
We think of scarves as a fashion asset
--A striped scarf flying in the wind just screams beauty.
We dream of robots riding long-necked dinosaurs.
We see in neon colours.
We boast oversized headphones as we walk to school.
We blog our angst for others to read. Others who will understand
[But, of course, no one understands us truly.]
We have short, tousled hair that blankets over one eye.
We are discrimination.
We photograph ourselves from miles above our heads.
We shun religions of any shape or form.
We punch and kick at the air during concerts.
We are your heart's apocolypse.
We attempt suicide because it's in style.
We are your worst nightmare.
We are emo.