Not sexy or new.
After all, aren't we all a little acned and hackneyed?
And then, like a blink,
we're old:
scattered in wrinkles,
one for each mistake,
with the lamest strut you finally
recognize as all your own.
I definitely don't need to be a genius.
After all, aren't all geniuses a little bit alone?
Brains far too bright for anyone
to look at for too long.
And should I really want to be rich
when the rich become bored by their things?
Who needs that when I've got a few real friends?
No.
I just want to be kind.
after all,
what else is there to accompany me out of
the darkest winters of my mind,
than a smile from someone I loved
with the purest part of heart?