Monday, September 6, 2010


we pretend to care,
as we move through our days,
that lonely old woman,
trying to make it to the next,

little boys and their refused childhoods,
girls that squeeze through hoops,
of metal,
and life,

we pretend,
of bigger worries,
we gaze at our scars,
the physical and the not so,

we worry that little itch,
while our soul,
soothes itself away,
as we enter the gates,

of our reality and dreams,
built on those left behind,
but mostly on our souls,
a little bit everyday.