Under Grumpa's Hat

They sold us a picture in glossy disguise,
A life neatly wrapped with a bow on the side,
Where nothing is lost and no parts are denied,
Just hustle and smiles and well-filtered lies.

You rise with ambition, a fire in your chest,
You grind through the hours, convinced it’s the way,
Then crawl home at night with just fumes left to stay,
Still telling yourself this exhaustion is best.

The kids want your time, your phone wants your soul,
Your partner wants presence, not half of your ear,
But deadlines keep whispering louder each year,
And somewhere along it, you’ve traded your role.

Your body keeps score in the aches you ignore,
A back that now groans like an old wooden stair,
You promise you’ll fix it “soon”… get some fresh air,
Right after you answer just one email more.

And oh, the brave face, that well-practiced grin,
The “I’ve got this handled” you toss out with flair,
While quietly drowning in thin, stretched-out air,
A circus performer with too much to spin.

Perhaps it was never a prize to be won,
But choices that shape what you’re willing to lose,
For every “yes” whispered, there’s something you refuse,
And peace starts the moment you carry just one.