Dear, Jep

Dear, Jep

Can I be your shoes,

And walk between your shadows and above the grass?

Can I be your backpack,

And carry me off the train and up the hills?

Can I be your jacket,

And protect you from the wind and the sunshine?

Can I be your belt,

And pull you up, even when you don’t need me to?

Can I be your sweater,

And mask you from the pollution and confusion?

Because I can’t be your rug,

Sleeping next to your bunk bed.

Because I can’t be your phone,

Lighting up your darkness occasionally.

Because I can’t be your dress,

Hanging in your closet waiting for Sunday.

Because I can’t be your notebook,

Only holding your most important words.

Because I can’t be your house key,

Being used when you need to be home.