
I’m stuck with this middle-aged mug
I’m no woman’s cabana boy fantasy
She pines for your affection – but only yours
Yet I can write the romance you forgot to be
I’m stuck with this middle-aged mug
I’m no woman’s cabana boy fantasy
She pines for your affection – but only yours
Yet I can write the romance you forgot to be
I don’t have pretty eyes to attract
Nor a beautiful body to distract
A middle aged, middle class white dude
with no street cred
With charm & gentlemanly conduct
instead
I’ll have to choose the proper words
To prevent from being misheard
Where did our youthful exuberance go
Closed off from a litany of feelings of truth
But I don’t want to be like them
Not worried about a bent halo or tarnished tiara
Angst of foregone conclusions
I want something of substance
Never tamed by society’s expectations
A slow, smoldering strangeness
Embracing the stature of being a little weird
Impervious to judgements of being bland
For through and through, I can only be me
Never standing for someone else’s brand
I hope to always be wild enough to be free
These broken & delayed dreams
Electric toothbrushes that constantly hum
A pocketful of change
& girls with eyes so pretty it makes me dumb
I’m not one to make a great scene
Yet I’m your average middle-aged guy
Not counted among the mundane
I couldn’t be normal, even if I tried
So we’re all stuck in this spinning limbo
A world with mixed up priorities & hate
I’m confused by all this wasted time
One of these days the hourglass will cease to rotate
So, I’m probably going to be late for work
For my beautiful woman resides in this bed
I could be responsible & get there on time
But I’m always going to choose to love instead
Image by Claudio_Scott from Pixabay
I don’t feel like an adult
Still sitting at the kids table
On the cusp of middle age
Attending tea parties when able
The girls are growing too fast
I need to slow then down
Soon, they’ll be young ladies
& won’t care if I’m around