Despite what my cross-country record might say,
I am very good at running.
Running late,
running behind,
running away.
Running to anyone
who’ll give me the time of day
when I’m feeling
some type of way:
like everything’s all wrong
and I have no one to count on.
I’ll run to you
even when you don’t want me to
and run away from you
when you get too close.
I’ll run headfirst into walls
so you can catch me when I fall,
and I’ll run and hide
when you look me in the eyes
and tell me it’s fine.
It’s not fine.
I’m running all the time.
My legs are getting tired
and no one’s close enough to catch me
when they finally give out.
It’s not fine.
I’ve been running all night
and now the sun’s coming up
and I’m running out of fight.
It’s not fine.
I’m running out of reasons
to stay awake
and I am running out of time
to make it out alive.
I’m running low on gas.
Someone catch me.
You'll find "Running" on page 36 of my book, "Flames Speak", out now. Buy here.
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