My Own Advice

The coffee was cold by the time he said it.

'You know, you always told me, 'Don't wait for perfect,''

He took a gulp, 'Just get started, just commit.'

And something in my chest went tight, almost sick.

I'd forgotten the words, the way I'd leaned in,

pounding the table, years back, full of fire.

My own blueprint for escape, a thin

map to desire. Now it feels like wire,

tangled and rusted, wrapped around my own feet.

I see the path, clear as day, lit by that phrase.

But my boots are glued down, the moment fleet.

My hands are tied by all these endless delays.

He took my words and ran. I stayed behind.

My own good counsel, the one I couldn't find.