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.