I feel sorry for the people born as adults,
not knowing the worth
of play for play’s sake
and not knowing how
to have fun and live
without KPIs
and other burdens
held up by grown-ups.

It seems to me such people have been ejected
without compassion,
to live out empty
man-made made-up jobs,
all ego and fluff,
to meet and preserve
their right to maintain
fabricated needs.

So maybe they are having their time as children
after all, learning
to make-believe play,
these inflated kids;
Peter Pans ruling
over us. They sit
in their own excess
with our lives at stake.

Note from Hannah:
This is me. I don’t write many poems, let alone share them. They usually come from a point of frustration and hurt, so I keep them close.
My three-year old told me, ‘I like it, but the characters make me feel sad.’
I’d love to know your thoughts.