I Built This Treehouse in the Ground

Chp. 7: Occupation I

I stare and I stare,
I fret then I fret.

I blow my remorse
and I stomp my regrets.

I live like a saint,
Yet I cry like a dove.

I live through these pictures,
I swim through this rough.

But born by a sinner
and lived by a swing.

I am pushed higher and higher
and I fall as I fly-- higher and higher and higher.

My age is a letter
My gender is a hall.

On Tuesday they'll say sweetheart
On Wednesday not at all.

And school is a dark room
and life is a cynic.

As I wait in these bathrooms
while mom has her picnic.

But take me for granted
but keep me a secret

For no one should know me
except who shall read this.