[art] poem 76

I never grew famous yet
And I think it's part of my success
I can move easier
In and out of crowds
Without being particularly noticed

I don't carry much cash
There's nothing much to steal

I did some chin-ups yesterday
Quite a few, and I'm not as sore as I'd think
I don't live much out of my car these days
And most of my clothes sit in a closet instead of a bag

But I've lived my simple dreams
And I wouldn't mind living them again
(possibly with modifications)
The one's where I wasn't so attached
And I wasn't so caught by my lifestyle
Freedom does come at a price
And sometimes that price doesn't suit
The older types
But I'm not there yet
And there is so much more to see

And this sounds like trash
And it isn't my heart that is coming out
I'm trying too hard
I'm aching for my words to be something
Something worth these pages
But instead I come up with something to sell
Something to sell to stubble minded squirms

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