A Blanket

I am a five foot seven inch
(tho some say six 'nd half)
twenty two year old little boy
Tryin' hard to act grown up
But I'm terrified to mess up
So nervous I might throw up
And make a big ol' mess all up
In this apartment I just moved into
Where I'll invite and entertain
The most esteemed of guests.
A large book shelf on display
With important records and movies
And books I meant to leaf through
And I drop names from hats
Like Tolstoy or Tolkien
(when in reality, I ain't read either).

Knock, Knock
(look through peephole)
Who's there?
Yourself.
(surprised, confused)
Who?

Someone told me once
'If you catch a cloud,
It's yours forever'
But when I reached out,
was fabric, not a cloud.
Just a clever disguise
to make something not so special
appear fantastic,
Much like the one I wear.

But my dark cloud still hovers there
Right above the ground there
Silver lined with big brown eyes
I step once forward
It steps back twice.
'Forever mine,
forever mine.'

And I've been playing parts on stage
In the dark to lines unmemorized
But isn't my own life improvised
That I should not be so stage shy?
Yet my blocking unrehearsed
Just gives me shaking nerves
And stuttered consonants to a crowd
Of empty seats unlit.
But my audition piece was far too dark
For such a light show as this here farce.

I had a dream I can't remember
Except for something to do with seagulls.

The knocks, they come
Out of peepholes, I watch
And I do not recognize
Who I've been becoming.
And yet I ask,
Is that so bad?