A poem I just wrote - possibly my generation, ASD, or both

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I probably won't post poetry here too often but this came, almost as a byproduct, of some digging that I've been doing through my own contents tonight.

Sometimes I wish the pressure to reinvent ourselves moment by moment wasn't so constant...


No Man's Land

You're in uncharted territory.
We can't tell you who you are or where you're going.
We can't tell you what will be approved of or not approved of.
You're on your own.
With each passing year you'll feel your own vitality modulate a bit.
Everyone feels it.
No one really knows what it is or how to explain it
It just sort of happens as such.
We just do, on our own, minding our own psychosis and personal swarm of gnats and stinging thoughts.
Some have roles they're forced into by family
Some have roles they're thrust into by friends
Some have roles thrust upon them by city or country
Still there's a remainder that no one can peg, judge, nor really direct.
They can't tell you if you're doing it right
They can't tell if you're doing it wrong
If you're doing it right the reward is future and uncertain
If you're doing it wrong the penalty equally future and uncertain
They can only ever vaguely see what's going on
One might look to a God but that God remains silent.
We know there's a cosmic light illuminating the works
But it refuses to tell us where we are or where we're headed
The best we can gather of it's will is in the faces of those around us.
And in the way nature stacks the cards for or against us.
It's as if we, the tides, and what happens around us and to us is its language.
Our major events in history are it's verbs and we are its nouns.
Even there a lot of us are stuck.
There's no map, there's no where to go
All too often God turns us toward the liquor or porn store.
Does God loath himself or herself?
That I'd like to know.