The tightrope walker
Never stop wearing a fake plastic smile and a blue hairnet. Behind the funny nose of a clown I'll hide in silence and contemplation of the sarcasm that wants me, laughed at. But it is when I hold in my hands and my feet squeak on a pole with a rope for fear of ground contact and open the doors to the enthusiasm of living in the thrill of going down. So it's like to dominate the sky. Then it's as if I had more shape and my body blends in with the wind. This is where my journey begins shaman to stem the broken dreams of a shadow and a vortex of tenderness that intoxicates me fertile wisdom. But my makeup seems to melt because of sweat. The show is over. I completed my journey. The audience applauds and maybe tomorrow, there will be more applause among different people and different silence. New opportunities and new miss. New faults and new moments to concealing and still wonder why though man, I can fly.
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