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
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
I sit and smoke a cigarette
And look at these quaint houses
And I stare into suburbia

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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