Sunday morning monologues
Front row fixtures
Dreamy papercup dialogues
And cracked tile constellations.

It's safe inside these walls
Safe, they scream, safe
And behind my smiles and uplifted hands is
My never ending unease.

Sunday morning monologues
Front row fakes
Sunshine maple tree jogs
And stained tile motivations.

I could stand up
Leave those lyrics running
Walk out
And never come back.

Or take to the mic
And scream every last
One of my insecurities
To the whole dang world.

But I'll never
Do either.

Sunday morning monologues
And front row blanks.