I make believe I’m made of wood
And keep myself apart.
But, in the end, it does no good;
I can’t switch off my heart.

It races like a thoroughbred
Whenever you are near.
I’d let it overtake my head
If it were not for fear.

It’s that which makes me keep my flame
Secluded from the light;
The fear of losing in the game
Compels me to take flight.

There’s nothing, though, to win or lose,
But tell that to my running shoes.

Photo by Joshua Earle on Unsplash

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