fraud

as if I have the answers, they come
as if i, childless and barren, possess wisdom of old souls.
like grandmothers on porches swinging with the rhythmic voice of time
can offer tested principles of life that has flowed within and without
from my innermost places. no heart beat has ever
beat against my abdomen; there is no knowledge
that has been imparted that lets me answer life’s complexities.

and inside i’m tested and torn, ragged clothes not fit for the pauper’s son
if he had one. if we pulled the blinds back
i’d be exposed, poor and undone, like mismatched socks i am.
the landscaped front belies the disheveled rooms.
and still they come, driving by to admire what they perceive to be

and only i seem to see the truth
i am but a scared child, lost with no map
living off instinct.