31-3-10
I (sh)shuffle forwards
with these tiny careful toes,
I run, sprint backwards
with these eager but tiptoes.

Why is everything I do so silent?
My toes are so sore from creeping,
Why is everything I do such a secret?
Good or bad, my feet are worn out.

I (sh) shuffle forwards
with this finger to my lips
so as not to get any
hopes up before I fall again.

Why is everything I do kept a secret?
Behind my gnawed lips, behind my sore teeth,
Why is everything I do locked in my throat?
Good or bad, my vocals chords could use a stretch…

I run, sprint backwards
with this finger to my lips
so as not to crush any
body, I’ll fix this all alone.

Or simply pretend, oh my feet have had
practice, oh my mouth is an expert,
Oh my feet are used to this dance,
and my mouth can sing the song,
line for line, lie for lie, and barely in
a whisper, just the way it’s all meant
to be…

I (sh) shuffle forwards
or I run, sprint backwards,
Same quiet, silent scenario.