You live a life of what-if’s, almost’s, and neverwhen’s
Your dreams are blotting out the sun, my dear
See past a rock, a cloud, a rotting flower
And into the fabric of my life, my time, my world
Life is more than daises and pie in the sky thinking
Words are faulty and filled with holes
Like a strainer, and the spaghetti caught inside is me
Held back by a thin piece of metal from a world to call mine
All my own; and until I can fit through the holes,
Neverwhen’s, almost’s, and what-if’s will have to do.