I'd like to pretend for a moment that I was a poet.

My words could mesmerize
and my glance could be seen to be more philosophical
than Socrates and Plato bound together
in chains of writing
and time

My very breath would wisp along the lines of insanity
and my heartbeat, keep time with the frenzied
dance I keep my toes working through
on this tightrope
I have strung
so tight and high

And my heart?

It would be taken.
And it would be happy.
And not confused.