As time goes,
I wonder how much
Of what my mind shows to me
Has grown to be;
Been sewn into me
By a brain protecting prone dignity.
Does my dancing get better,
The advancing trend setter,
Perfect lines to the letter,
When my whistle gets wetter?
Do I really glow,
Go with the flow,
Speak in throws that show what I know
When you talk to me
Pinging on ecstasy?
Do I really astound
Sound profound with wisdom abounding
After being up all night
With coffee surrounding?
Or does my mind use paint
Making quaint of the tainted memories
Making faint
The embarrassment to me?
I have no complaint though;
I am not a saint, I know.
But if my mind did blow up and show
How I really looked
I might feel crooked and timid
And live a life less vivid
For fear of livid memories.
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