Something Old at Something New

 

Something Old at Something New

I’m getting ready for an art show,

pretending I don't care

about opinions I’ll still feel in my gut.

Pretending “no sales” won’t sting,

even though I know it will

just enough to remind me

I’m still made of a few stupid things.

I keep wondering how people

from my other lifetime

will see me now.

If they’ll recognize anything,

or if I’ve changed too much

or not enough.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter,

but of course it does.

I rehearse conversations in my head,

the casual ones,

the nonchalant ones,

the ones where I don’t look like

I’m secretly hoping for praise

I swear I don’t need.

But God, it would be nice

to hear something kind

without asking for it.

I’m excited and

nervous in that way

that feels like standing in a doorway

between who I was

and who I’m growing to be.

Hoping old friends show up

with new eyes,

and maybe I’ll see them

with new eyes too.

I’m trying to walk into this

like it’s just another day,

but it isn’t.

It’s me,

showing up for something new,

And that has to count for something.

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