Clowning

I wish people knew how to pronounce my name,

But I suspect they won’t learn until it’s written on a grave.

My sense of humor tickles their throats with feathers.

They’ll never admit it, and I’ll never know any better.

My grey matter turns into sequins when I dance.

I think I’ve missed a dozen shots at a real romance.

All I know is how to spend cash on quick satisfactions.

I don’t remember my last real human interaction.

The green in my wallet still can’t buy me respect,

And people on the screens ask – what did you expect?

I wish I was a real clown so I could run this circus,

But I guess they’ll strangle me before I find my purpose.

-Jackie