By Allie Marie
We’ll be your great pretender;
your favorite golden star.
We steal shiny keys and bend them.
Flattery never got us very far.
Lovers glance in crooked smiles.
Singles swerve their circles.
Secretly, it is all the same path.
We want something lovely to last.
Our voices are buried in the rough,
but they are dying trying to be tough.
These years bring out the welcome mats.
Adulthood is sickly tired of that.