To be an adolescent foiled by waffles
In my stomach sits a brick,
My conviction is sixteen years thick
I will not move,
I will not plan ahead,
I will nap.
The fuzzy disposition,
Of these too warm pajama pants
Will hold me deep in slumber.
And here beneath my comforter
Under my pillow,
And below my sheets,
I will rest, away from you.
You who go by future
You who go by real life,
You cannot crack me here.
So send me a message,
Shoot me a text,
Write me a letter, four pages deep
Give me a call—
And be sure to leave your name after my lonely little beep.
Because I am nowhere, I am asleep
I am dreaming
I am safe.
Who needs a job,
Who needs college,
When these slippers are doing me so darn fine?
I am comfy cozy indeed,
And no matter the passage of time,
You simply will not change my mind.
Consider it a bedtime story
These tales I have heard,
As each weary adult
Comes shuffling in, spinning me a tale
So many years thin.
They had goals,
They had dreams,
But they have pushed nothing, but their collared shirt’s seams.
So I say no thanks,
I’m happy here,
I don’t feel the need to join you,
My dear, dear future.
You cannot tempt me with your stories of promise
So I’ll lie in bed
-Lay my head right here—
And listen to you call.
What’s that you say?
There are waffles downstairs?
Crap, I guess I’m coming after all.
Maybe I would rather remain conscious for a bit
So as not miss the show in this too warm, lonely embrace of mine.
