Circus for me was always more about going back than being high up.
It was more about a place than the object that swung.
It was more about a friend than an applause
Circus was always more about lost friends than loud applause.
I still have not gone back.
I have no tricks, no bones for knotting, no soaring limbs.
Seven years on and not one trick that distracts from my size or one feat to mask my face.
Bruises still come in their hard fashion
But only the circus gave bruisy delight. Stains of triumphs not defeat
Seven years on and not a trick
And no one to hold my feet.