I can be backwards

I am awake late at night because I will roar myself out of bed in the morning. Because of the echoes of steel drums and expensive chocolate and Aerosmith and plaid shorts and tick tick tick boom. In the meantime, between now and afewshorthoursfromnow I'm thinking:

I can be backwards.

I can get to the place where my outer edge
is disobeying, and recognize this,
and refuse to self-correct.
Flat out no.
No.

I think this is a disservice.
I think I actually have more control
when I'm dropping myself by the wayside--on purpose.
Discard me in favor of you.

Like a box of second-hand clothes,
I do a much bigger favor to accept
than the giver does to place it in my arms.