It’s rolled up sleeves.
It’s cut up knees.
It’s worrying to those who don’t understand it,
but, then again it’s not giving a ****.
It’s a spark of hope
almost lost in a sea of dread.
It’s not something many understand,
and in earnest a bit thickheaded.
It’s the feeling of being young, of getting caught up in fleeting games of love and lust before settling down for a drink or two.
It’s rebellion, really.

Acres of precariously cut trees line the pavement, made exactly to order, created for dollars and thin-headed minds. They aren’t how they’re mean’t to be now, are they? They’re dead, and serve no purpose other than boosting property value.
Then there’s the trees in the park; they’re alright. A bit more real, for sure, but not the same. Still the masters of dictation by designers with no appreciation for nature’s flow. Most are almost a carbon copy of the stereotype; circle or triangular shaped heads, with a smooth round tail connecting to the surface.
When you come to a small town, don’t expect those types of things. Don’t look for the thin lines, smooth bark, and neatly trimmed leaves. They have no emotion, describe no feeling.
What does?
Trees, made more as thick sticks than anything. Trees bare of all their leaves, minus the stubborn few who resist the tides of winter. Their flesh is mangled and *****, a testament to nature itself. The smell, the sight, it all captures a distinct feeling you will never get from the ******* in Central Park.

My family, they used to sit me down
and tell me stories of those who rebelled back then.
And I ain’t no communist, not any furry,
but it’s been a while since I was ten.
The stories have stopped,
swapped for stricter rules of what i should opt for.
My father used to be a musician,
and it was his childhood dream.
But he retired from it once he turned what must have been fifty-five years.
He forgot the gleam,
the shine of hope.
And maybe it’s just naiveté,
but I believe there’s more to life
than just unpaid debt.

Inspiration is strange.
It will happen anywhere,
be it the john,
out shopping,
in class,
or among friends.
And it's a real ***** too,
because once the seed is planted
it will do nothing but grow;
you cannot think, move, focus on anything else but the idea.
But,
that idea is a part of you,
and without it you will die.