Wannabe

 

How do you do it? Look in the mirror, and feel satisfied with your reflection

If it were me I would surely, bow my head in dejection 

For anyone, with even a moderately discerning eye, could see through your roos

Your embarrassingly transparent, ill devised, subterfuge 

If you were leather, you’d surely be faux

Quietly thinking and hoping, those who look upon you do not know

Fingers crossed, they can’t see you’re a fraud, a counterfeit, bogus, a fabrication

A half-arsed impression, a phoney, a plastic, pathetic replication

But like knock off sunglasses, sold on a beach, there are signs you’re a cheap imitation

Give aways and tells, that reveal, you’re a poor approximation

Like misspelt designer labels, with letters added or omitted

Under inspection, nah at a glance, you’d be found out in court, and charged, not acquitted

In fact,

An official court would not be needed, 

A Kangaroo court would suffice,

No experts required, so obvious is your vice.

And all for what? To fill an occupied niche?

A pointless endeavour, is your vague pastiche 

I don’t know how you maintain such pep,

Or any spring, in your miniature step.

How can you be satisfied, and be so chippy?

Knowing all you are, is a poor man’s Skippy,

I think it’s a joke, that you call yourself a Wallaby,

When it’s clear for all to see,

What you are, is a Wannabe.