When It Rains On Friday And You Miss The Bus

I used to think.
I used to think I was.
I used to think I was an artist.
I used to think I was a musician.
I used to think I was a writer.
I used to think I was young.
I used to think.
I used to think I was.
I don't think so anymore.

I might.
I might be.
I might be the smile of recognition
on my dog's face
when I approach her
walking along the lake.
I might be
the touch of my mother's hand
on my cheek on a Sunday
when we both realize how lucky we are
to still be here.
I might be
a blown save opportunity.
I might be
a bit too much
but mostly
I might be
right where I should be.
So there.