Sometimes…most times

It brings me back.

And I know enough, now,

22 years later… That it’s OK.

That familiar, gleeful burn

That “let’s fucking get it going”

That “Oh it feels good to be back”

I strut

Internally

And swing the shoulders of my pomp.

When I am like this, it’s all I know,

It’s all I want to know,

I feel alive

My purpose, no longer dormant

(Even though it’s all a lie).

If it gets me off the mutha fucking couch

I’ll take it.