My jam.

Y’all professionals while I self select.
Nowhere near that level, call it a personal defect.
I learned not to seek permission when I spot a crack.
Just letting myself in, all nerves, with pride in check.
Young faces & sure footings, those are never my jam.
Tossing & turning & stealthy as heck.
There’re places I wanna be, numbly tumbling, looking ahead.
Everyone’s tired of the apology, “I’m old & clumsy”,
“I had missed all the exit signs”…
So now you have to deal with me…
What’s that? You don’t care?
I make you look good? Oh, that’s just fine!
It’s hard to laugh, being a clown, eyes on the prize,
balancing falls, taking it all in, like a child, effortless.
Why does anyone do anything? Choose a tent and meet your friends.
Don’t berate yourself, in the beginning, the middle nor the end.
Be a flower, a bug, who knows when the time is ripe.
I’d like to live with you, with you attached.
I just like to live with it, you know? With my life enlarged.

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