Anxiety’s like a tightrope/

That swings in time to the/

Wind’s steady movements./

Below my bare toes/

Which curl tightly around the/

Thickness of the thread,/

People crane their necks/

Up, up, up,/

Squinting against the/

White hot glare of the sun,/

Waiting to see if I will fall/

Down, down, down./

I wasn’t trained for this/

Yet the words/

Performance Day are marked/

In dripping black ink/

In every slot of my calendar./

Who was I before all of this?/

It seems as if/

I can’t remember a time before/

Any misstep meant sudden death./

Am I destined to be the acrobat forever?/

Am I?/

Am I?/

Am I?/

Can someone just cut this tightrope?

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