A poem about improvisation


Improvising is my way of life
Things are loosely planned
never set in stone
it’s ok to be alone
it doesn’t have to make sense
I don’t have to explain it
the feeling is enough
the instinct is there if you listen
and don’t drown it in articulation
your feelings are not my fault
what are your triggers?
show me the real you
let’s move through it and not avoid it
will have to deal with it eventually anyway
better to do it when it’s fresh and easy
throw out the rules
make up your own
or live a prescribed life
with no reason for doing anything
what they told you to do
how they told you to do it
status marked by material things
hearts empty, but heads full
of bullshit
exchanging freedom for comfort
trading time for money
selling out, wondering why
you feel empty
I see you
I’ll help when you’re ready
which could be never
that’s fine
you do your thing
i’ll do mine
I make it up as I go
it’s working so far
my life is measured by love
and how I feel is enough
for me to know
what is right


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