My Life, the Musical

image from sheila moore

My Life, the Musical


Hi! My name is… (what?) My name is… (who?)
My name is… [scratches]… Sheila.
Hi! My name is… (huh?) My name is… (what?)
My name is… [scratches]… Sheila.

I want it that way – the way it was in 1999.
“They’re so old!” he exclaimed as we watched
a recent video of The Backstreet Boys.
“They’re our age, Honey,” I replied and

gave some TLC to my no scrubs man.
Back then, I was shakin’ bon-bon and he was
Sincepence None The Richer, kiss(ing) me;

my Fresh Prince with his vodka Rick(e)y
and me, livin’ la vida loca, in the wild, wild
(mid) west with our Genie in a bottle – youth, love,

freedom from kids yet to come. No pinches, just
hit me, baby, one more time – was this for real?!
Hard to believe life was so grand. Though at the time,
I thought, “That don’t impress me much,” and

my Mouth <–was–> Smash(ed) by the fact that
the years start coming and they don’t stop coming.
We were fed to the rules and hit the ground running;
didn’t make sense not to live for fun even though
our brains got smart but our heads got dumb.

On “mornings after,” he’d wake me – his
BareNaked Lady – with bass,
welcoming me to Miami, and I’d smile.

Now, I wake to an alarm clock, Blink
(182) and think, “What’s my age again?”
And the Sting of each brand new day
is starting to blur into the next and I wonder

from this moment on will my bon-bon sag?
Will I forever feed the rules to my children,
sleep with my clothes on, and only dream
of south-beach vacations?

Does it matter? Nah.

(Can I get a what,) what matters is
that I love you. So, (George) strait up, Baby,
write this down, take a little note

to remind you in case you didn’t know,
tell yourself I love you and
I don’t want you to go, write this down
because I just did.


Sheila Moore

Posted over on her site She's Writing