(Written November 17, 2007, at age 20.)
i close my eyes and concentrate,
and listen intently for the slightest sob;
when i start to sense a rising weight,
i feel desperately for any beat or throb.
do i still call it a heart romancing,
or a heavy stone?
in finding failure on every course,
and letting tears openly flow;
in realizing in me a deep remorse,
and accepting my sorrow,
have i shrunk to self-lancing,
or have i so grown?
standing with a smile in a crowded lair,
each familiar face a single blink,
my favourite song pounding through the air,
the phony curve of my lips makes me think:
is the dance really worth dancing,
if i dance alone?