We Didn’t Choose The Sky

By Greeva Shah

Yes, I am a teenager—

a Gen Z soul, soft-skinned but steel-hearted.

We didn’t customize our hearts before arrival,

didn’t tweak our tears or temper—

God coded us this way,

and evolution etched the rest.

We bruise easy,

but that doesn’t mean we’re weak.

We love you—

our parents, our roots—

but we stumble at the altar of expression.

We fail to say it right,

but the love is there,

aching to be seen.

Support isn’t always money.

It’s belief.

It’s the quiet whisper:

“You can do this. I see you.”

It’s shelter in the storm,

not a ledger of expectations.

You grew without luxuries,

and now drown us in them—

Then ask us to swim the same way.

But we didn’t ask for the flood.

We didn’t choose this sky.

You brought us here,

and now call us fragile

for breathing its air.

We fall.

We rise.

We are betrayed,

criticized,

disrespected—

but still,

we stand up

to honor the life, you gave us.

So, feel our sorrow.

Not as shame,

but as a song.

And if you can,

wrap us in warmth

of your love—

not to fix us,

but to walk beside us

as we learn to fly.

This is the voice of gen z to their parents

By Greeva Shah