Nobody’s holding your hand baby x.

The light softly sits on
The leaf of ivy
Making itself present
Making the different hues of green
Present
Shadows cast on the couch
Winter sun – stop playing games!
There is a couch
There is a couch on my front porch
And I stare into suburbia
Sometimes
I sit and smoke a cigarette
Sometimes
And look at these quaint houses
And I stare into suburbia
Sometimes.

Sometimes I miss waking up to silence
I miss the ambience
The lack of traffic
Bustling down the highway
That backs onto my garden
Sometimes I miss looking out my window
To hills
Sometimes I miss seeing a wombat
On the side of the road
Sometimes I miss the bridge
Near my mother’s home
Where I’d steal my father’s gin
And drink and cry
When I was fourteen

But I’m growing up!
Quickly blossoming into a young woman
Who is developing a new home
A new life
But life feels like the wilderness –
Unnavigated territory
Nobody has lived like I
Nobody has seen exactly what I’ve seen
Nobody is on the same journey
Nobody can hold your hand.
It’s selfish to think otherwise,
You sweet little plum!


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