I find it hard to put into words
(perhaps I just can't understand)
why I don't trust you.
Something about that
and those silhouette eyes
make me want to rip apart the machine you've so readily
Eyes locked forward
with manufactured hair
tan limbs and that shy smile.
All you think of is
making the grade
(all the pageantry makes me ill)
it all seems so important.
But I do wonder if all the work;
the shallow laughs and hallow smiles
aren't just to make us all feel a little better?
(how we've always strived to make them believe).
We used to say how we'd never be one of them.
We were different somehow
all the suffering
and abnormalities had shaped us
in ways no one would understand.
And yet here we are just a few years older.
I find myself a cynic
laughing at my own idealism.
A few years
I can still put on my jaded mask as well as the best.
But that idealistic boy
that dreamed of changing the world
pen in hand.
Seems to be
in your 21st century realism.
I look at my nephew
(one year has just barely passed him by)
with his pretty blond hair,
and blue eyes that make the old ladies sigh.
And I hope
that that the world may have a chance yet.
And I know
that he'll never follow in our footsteps.
He'll grow with all the amenities we could never afford.
He'll know what it means wake to a mother's loving face.
He'll never see his father struggle to provide.
He'll never feel that he just doesn't fit.
(and if he doesn't he'll know it has nothing to do with him).
I always thought that it was because I simply wasn't.
But I know now
that no matter what
it was all because I never let myself be.