Last night
you didn’t come as your youthful self,
my fun, faithful friend.
Instead, bald, broad, and bellied you asked,
your hard question against my thigh:
Why not?
Respect, I said,
Squeamish at your leer.
You lowered your voice to that super serious tone
I remember so well.
Really?
So much doubt.
Yes.
Really.
Even in my dreams I’m over this.
The shape of this idea
is new,
resolving conceptually around
a
round
never-ending
novelty
what the mirror reveals of me.
The shape of this idea
greets daily astonishment
as “You can be” turns out to be true.
Who knew?
If you don’t own your own mistakes
acknowledge your culpability
you can never move on.
Your improvement depends on
self-awareness.
Know your weakness, so you
can overcome.
Honey,
quit hunting between the lines
for secret messages!
The pondering that ravages your mind
is funny.
Sometimes a like is just a like,
it’s not a matter of spite
a declaration of might,
suggestion you’re right,
it’s just a like.
‘Nice words. I heard them.’
‘Well phrased. This stays with me.’
‘You posted. Yay!’
Quit running with the attitude
that everything’s about you.
Relax. Let live. Don’t stress.
I don’t care if you’re wearing pants or dress.
If you look like Hans but feel like Sue.
I’m not gunning after you!
Do what you want to do.
But don’t read between my lines
and imagine that in my rhymes
I’m referring to you.
(Though this one time,
it’s true,
I do).
.
.
(Sometimes I get weird email. I should just ignore it, but sometimes it’s inspiring. What can I say?)
Shawn L. Bird 