The Wiggle

The pen shook, just a little twitch,

trying to make my name appear.

A small, unwanted, nervous hitch,

and my boss was standing near.

His throat cleared, a sandpaper sound.

My jaw then took its cue,

a tiny tremor, in the ground

of my own self, it felt so new.

The line blurred, a shaky line,

my signature, a wavering mess.

Like I was writing on a vine,

a secret I couldn't suppress.

Just a little wobble, a soft shame,

this body, playing its own game.