Anxious

It takes less than an instant for me to play the fool - a part I’ve rehearsed the lines for, sat in my room and practiced the scales, perfecting precise poetic ponderings - only for my words to stumble together, running into each other like they are trying to escape a building on fire where the exit signs are marked “Here.” “There.” “Anywhere.”

Echoes of dead air that follow my poor performance are a mating call to my dumb ears that call upon a deaf brain which translates to an untalented tongue that sashays, pirouettes, one-two steps across the inside of my mouth, always aiming, sometimes succeeding, to please please please.