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.