I Can't Win
The hardest part of walking uphill? Moving like the wind.
That hardest part of walking down? losing sight of them.
Knew it wise to spend feudal time to unwind content,
but still felt torn like Aliens grew inside my skin.
Who am I to them?
Who am I to me?
Behooving likening and soothing rivalry.
Moving like the trees - swaying in the ambience
while pieces fall without fading in the grass and twigs.
Everlasting grasp of facts scaling down the happiness
in a realm where it felt playing favorites has to fit.
Older now, sober now, and middle of the pack.
Hindered by my past or a figment of the facts.
Sticking to the back while my constituents relax,
I play my part and frivolously laugh.
No disdain, though refrained from an alpha position
insecurities won't lend to my gravitas missin'.
As it was written: too young to take care of my parents,
but too damn old for all of the fables and presents.
Gatherings are nice because families unite.
Autumn-esque backdrops reflect magic afterlife
moments golden to those with better halves who vanished like
death stands there red-handed laughing, yet, contrite.
It has to happen, right? The passing of the torch?
Passively we're forced to act as the resource
of happiness. Until ourselves are famished by divorce
or a tragedy of sorts and can no longer lend our masculine support.
Cash is the retort - To gain or to spend?
The shame in the trend is what heinously lends
to the dividing factor of what makes us content.
The gifter? The giftee? The buyer - unnamed in events.
It doesnt start from the green, or start monetary -
The autumn leaf doesnt fall far from the tree.
Triumphant bloodlines remain red at the top
The golden years fell to their spot - expelled and then washed.
Throughout the years mud muddles and melds all the lost
to remind the survivors we're not fresh from a start.
- Some won't compost,
some stretch what they've got,
but when we pool together
....it resembles a plot.