The Promises We Make

How did mine become an entire generation without coping mechanisms? We all hate confrontation, commitment, and hard work; most notably, the hard work necessary to have a human connection. We settle for substitutes and pale perversions of the real thing. Love is hard; so we choose lust. Honesty is painful; so we create our characters and say our lines. Sometimes, we are so convincing we don't know our persons from our personas at all.
Do we all hate ourselves so much that we have taken up the cause of burying ourselves beneath the rubble that is our lives? So many of us are so busy doing nothing at all but creating a diversion, a distraction from the fear that we, in our natural state, don't have all that much to offer. We paint the front door of a house that's on fire and hope no one notices.
You think no one appreciates you, but we do. Sometimes silently, often afraid we are showing too much of ourselves by saying it out loud, but we do. We are all scared of the same things. We are each a fragile masterpiece. Despite this, people treat each other horribly. There are people in each of our pasts who have ruined us for reality. We have all been hurt and no one wants to be the fool again. The games are exhausting and the prizes, only consolation. You collect your lovely parting gift as you make your exit and I don't want to go. I want to be here tomorrow, with you.
So lay it down; leave it behind; come and sit by me and talk the day away. Tell me the truth. Show me all your warts and I will show you mine. I want to know you and I want to be known. In fact, I am dying for it, as I think many of us are.