The speaker says they don't need to write, sing, or dance, because they already are all of those things. Their life is the poem, the song, the tango. It's a playful way of saying that living fully matters more than making art about it. But the poem keeps pulling against its own confidence. The speaker admits to "many needs," to crying as well as laughing, and to not being "around for long." Beneath the swagger sits a quiet awareness that life is short.
The line "before I run I walk" suggests patience and a sense of still growing up, while the closing lines turn slightly prickly: the speaker is "very hard to please" and more than "just a few words." The repeated opening, "I don't need to write," makes the poem feel like a refrain or a mantra. The mood is confident, a little defiant, and tender underneath, like someone insisting they're complicated and worth knowing.