A Hipster’s Lament


By T. N. Haynes

Packed my life
and moved out West.
Grew a beard, like the rest
Numbed myself with
wine and weed;
Got paranoid watching TV.

Alone, dark,
I created bad art
Forced rhymes,
strummed guitar;
Being ever-mindful to seem self-aware
Masking my privilege
with a wince of despair.

All the songs
were already sung
Brilliant ideas,
already done;
Wouldn’t look back to see how far I’d come,
Couldn’t recall just where I came from.

Hold me up to the light:
My jeans, cliche –
My haircut, trite.
But please be kind, watch what you say
Lest this tenuous delusion
just melt away.

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