I can’t be

a lot of things:

those leaves in the wind

allowing a breeze to control them,

the lonely cabin in a forgotten forest,

rotting from too much rain,

the broken shoots of grass

stepped and trampled on,

the complex words you use so regularly

unaware of their true meaning,

the transparent glass house

with shattered walls and rooms of stones ,

the men and women in suits

casually walking the streets, nameless and rushing,

all the product in your hair

hiding natural things and looking shiny,

full sheets of paper covered in notes

thrown away once the class is passed,

the ****** books and movies

so many people enjoy and converse about,

high noon when everything’s illuminated

and the shadows have disappeared,

the abbreviated words in meaningless text messages

answering questions in the shortest way possible,

the maddening silence when you sleep alone

with the street lights blaring through the blinds.

I can’t be simple.

I can’t be bright.

I can’t be whole.

I can’t be meaningless.

I can’t be alone.

I can’t be the same.

I can’t be okay.