too quiet
to be a performer
too starched white
to spit it out,
move my hands
punch your hearts
but quiet, uptight and white
are no excuse
for not making a point
for not making love
maybe I am just too impotent
or baseline depressed
or lazy
to put my passion into it
the titanic tension
I put on my head
the price and the self-pity
for having acted without courage,
uncountable, the times I've tried
to right myself,
too busy with these feats
too in need of entertainment
to care enough
about being entertaining
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