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Poetry

I'm a fool

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I’d rather admit it now than keep pretending that I’m not, to give you a fair chance to walk away and find a more astute poet before reading another word. 

It’s true, I’m a fool, and it feels liberating to admit this to you.

For starters, I spend too much money on things I don’t need.

I obsess over small details instead of seeing, let alone appreciating, the big picture.

I write sage words inside my notebook but can’t take my own advice.

I tell myself that I’m meditating but really I’m trying to remember song lyrics.

I say things that sound brilliant in my head, expecting a radiant applause, only to be greeted by an awkward silence that precedes the sound of footsteps walking away.

I can see everything that’s wrong with everything but can’t do anything about it.

I don’t appreciate the good things I have until they are gone.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. I didn’t even have time to mention my special gift for turning friends into strangers, or the fact that being loved makes me feel embarrassed.

If you think less of me now, that’s a good thing, my job here is done. I never felt comfortable sitting on that poor high horse, with nowhere to look except down. 

I’d much rather sit with you, here at eye level, where we can laugh together, two happy fools, at those who pretend, with comic urgency, to be wiser than they are.

James McCrae