The art of adulting
Is honestly a lie.
It's actually pretending
Before each other until "Goodbye".
They ask us the question
"How are you doing?"
"Fine," we reply in succession.
It's a routine we keep improving,
A rhetorical inquiry,
Nothing but a pleasantry.
Adults know everything.
At least, children think we do.
They believe, worshiping,
That we know why the sky is blue.
Sometimes even if we have all the pieces
Our confusion only increases.
In public: make money, pay taxes
Business suits and a briefcase.
At home: save a princess with swords and axes
Or float with aliens in outerspace.
Although outside we play a part,
Inside we are all children at heart.