‘rabbit hearted’, my friends say.
they nod, all agree.
my muscle, they know, beats fast,
thud thud thud against its small cage
whenever i’m about to do
something incredibly stupid
that will put everyone in sticky situations.
‘sticky’, they say, ‘is a funny word’,
as my shoes are, they laugh,
‘glued like bubblegum to trouble’.
my old shoes, i stare at them and hum,
have seen a lot of bubblegum,
that much is true.
and my friends, they’re *******,
they smile bright at me, they cackle and sing.
‘don’t you think’, they joke like they always do,
‘that your head is the troubling part?’
so i sigh, and ask why like i always do.
they say, ‘your head comes with malfunctioning brakes, mate.’
so i think, maybe, rabbit hearted as i might be, the impossible chimera that ignites my every move must be a lion, or something that roars just as loud, with no shoes at all.
but in the end, all i say is ‘i can’t drive anyway’.
at least my friends laugh.