She wants a house
With a terrace garden and a bookshelf in her bathroom
So she can read while pooping to save time
She says she wants a tree house
Where she can put fairy lights
And spend her lonely nights
She wants a cot where she can doze off
And ooh, a shot glass collection
From all the places she has gone
Though she would not drink because
She does not believe in substance abuse
She wants to grow creepers on the walls
And have a bird feeding area
She wants many dogs who know
How to open the door and bring stuff over
And she doesn't want a bed
She wants a tent that she can move
And sleep in wherever the hell she wants
She wants a huge oven
Where she can make pastries and cookies and brownies and cupcakes
She wants a hot tub in her bathroom
And a chocolate fountain in her kitchen
Which will be open for the neighbourhood children
Because she always wanted one when she was young...
But now she's old
And things don't make sense anymore
The taste of reality is bitter
For her soft and rosy lips wrinkled with time
She doesn't want to be asinine
Mediocrity looms over her like a storm cloud
But it's okay, she says
Maybe someday, I'll live up to it
Knowing within that she wouldn't