Grown from a sapling into an
   Awkward young thing
  Nibbling on fingertips, clumsy
  And tripping over shoelaces tied
  Not so carefully

   I tried to write you a poem
  Rolled the words over my tongue,
Put them inside packages tied
With little blue bows but
They never made it onto paper

So I stare at blank pages
Digging for inspiration underneath
The onion layers of this lifetime
Searching for something
Lost along the way

Slipped from my pocket and
Fell to the ground with
No sound at all as the
Floor of the forest folded my secrets
Underneath her leaves

I can see you there

standing in your studio relishing

in the faces of your followers

creaming their jeans over your creations

lightbulbs hanging from the cealing by telephone cords

and photographs of babies dressed as dictators

trying to prove that innocence still exists

when we both know that this world

was robbed of its innocence a million years ago

you might fool some people but I can see right through you

professional hipster, wearing tie dye underneath your skin

and an overpriced suit on the outside

painting your lips with designer brand

translucent rasberry lipstick

and kissing your acquaintances

a kiss for each cheek

I want to know how you can fake it so well

hiding behind your little purple door

counting money while I’m busy counting lies

was it easy to push your dreams so far away

so deep in the back of your mind that they may as well be in your shoes

did you ever think you’d be here

that you’d sell your soul to the devil

because I’m afraid that you might be my future

and I would rather stand at the end of the dock with Mr.Gatsby

gazing at the green light across the river

holding on to hope forever