Who I Know I am.

I want to be who I was.

I don’t want it to be some flash in a pan.

I feel myself settling back down to the rhythm of the mundane

And I can hear my dreams escaping out the back door.

I’m spending my nights curled up in bed

Rather than curled around a glass of something spitting words out on a page

And it scares me.

It scares me that I’ll become someone I never wanted to be.

Some dream weaver.

Some has been.

Some person living their life referring back to their moment in the limelight.

I don’t want to be that person.

I want to be the person who walked out of the limelight holding her torch

Headed for the east and not stopping for anyone or anything along the way.

But then I stumbled.

I stumbled and in the recuperation process I lost the muscle

The muscle that pumped that dream blood through my veins.

And I can feel the harness wearing where it rubs against my neck

And I’m worried I’ll get used to this.

I’ll get comfortable with this.

And I won’t become who I know I am.