Good on paper

If you saw me strolling down the street, all grey-sky-eyed and meandering, you might want to know me
If you heard me laughing in another room, buoyant with absurdity, you might want to come join me
If you listened to me singing to myself, softly discordant, while I sewed a button on your coat, you might want to kiss me
If you watched me dancing, loose hipped and gleaming abandon, you might want to take me

If you found me breaking, mewling like a feral kitten overwhelmed with hours, you might want to save me

If I wrote my thoughts on parchment and let the wind drop them at you feet like falling leaves, you might want to love me
If you woke up next to me everyday for a year or two, tangled sheet bleary and morning grim, you will wish I would never wake again

So

I will keep strolling
I will keep laughing

I will keep singing

I will keep dancing

I will keep breaking

I will keep thinking
I will keep sleeping

And you should just keep walking on by

(unless you happen to be thinking

"Any storm in a port");