I’ve been thinking of quitting ‘storytelling.’
It’s a badge I’ve been wearing since Windows 98,
Since before metal pins on backpacks and graphite horse sketches were cool.
We’ve traded the dial up pace for a cyber-shouting race
And I’m tired.
I’m trying on ‘listening and rest.’
It’s nice to not fight for light.
I don’t want the lead role in the spring musical, regardless.
Please. You be Maria Von Trapp. I’ll come and watch your blue dress spin.
I’ll probably cry when your high notes tremble in our hearts, beautifully earnest.
When did this thing that I love to do—
Rearranging heart fractures into little mosaics
With dusky hope and shaking fingers—
When did this thing that I love to do
Lose its simple earnestness?