For the longest time
I didn’t travel because I had no money,
I didn’t tell jokes because they didn’t seem funny,
I didn’t invite friends over for dinner
because it wasn’t that tasty whatever I cooked,
I didn’t dance because it wasn’t gracious
the way that I looked.
I didn’t take photos because I felt ugly and plain,
and even if I did, I wouldn’t post them online
because I thought I’d look vain.
I didn’t wear crazy clothes
because I thought I was plump,
I didn’t sew my designs because they never
turned out
The way I wanted them to – I felt like a chump.
I stopped reading because it wasn’t cool.
I stopped writing, too,
perhaps out of spite,
and even if I did, I didn’t post it because
I thought my writing was trite.
I didn’t buy flowers out of fear they would die.
I stopped chasing shooting stars
midst of July
because I had nothing to wish for.
Not anymore.
For the longest time I stopped being brave.
I didn’t send love letters (after that one time),
I’d take feelings to grave
rather than rhyme.
I didn’t take risks because I thought I would fail.
I stopped having fun because all there was, was
pain.
For the longest time I stood in place
and looked with fear the time that passed.
But even if all of those fears were true
it shouldn’t matter
because I love doing that
and that’s what I’ll do.
I’ll write that poem and send it to you,
I’ll tell the worst puns,
make the raspberry ravioli –
perhaps invite you once.
I’ll dance in the moonlight, slowly,
I’ll dance while I cook,
take all the photos,
write my own book.
I’ll open the curtains
to see the stars fall,
buy fabric for the ball,
dress myself in gold
and watch it all unfold.