I wish I was a better man.
I wish I was the kind of man that I see in magazines and TV; sporting rock hard abs, great hair, surrounded by happy, sexually satisfied women with wind blown hair; moist, pouty lips, perky breast and signing away their ex-husbands inheritance to me.
Tubby, smiling Pre-diabetic, bilingual children that like to write on walls with poop, a shiny car that goes 50 mph faster than advertised; 100 mph faster than my neighbors car;
A freshly painted house with a medicinal pot farm in the cellar, green lawns that aren’t painted or have briars, snakes or dog crap.
A $25 a day pain med habit and nice golf slacks; the checkered kind that even looks good in bowling shoes.
I wish I was a make believe man instead of a real man.
The kind of really, real guy that’s chock full of insecurities and vice; brimming over with self contempt and Xmas spirit.
I wish I was the kind of man my son’s want to be instead of the one they blame for everything.
I wish, I was, what I wanted to be instead of what I’ve done.
I wish I was the kind of man that was forgiven as readily as I have forgave.
I wish, I was, I could have been but, settled for…
The realness of it all.
I wish I could fly.
I wasn’t so fucking real, all of the time.