Why am I so hard on myself?
I mean, is there a purpose?
Sometimes, I have to wander
around the abandoned homes
of my barren past, the cobwebs
and dust collecting. Wooden
barricades over the doors and
windows.
I have to do this, because I
forget how far I've come.
Sometimes, it's weird
because I end up finding
something that releases me,
and I'm ready to move on.
Sometimes, I find nothing.
Sometimes, I find something
that I can take with me,
something that I genuinely,
authentically, stubbornly
want.
Not all of my past has to be tossed out.
Is that character growth?
YOU ARE READING
TO FAIL SO FLAWLESSLY
PoetryEDITS IN PROGRESS: A prose-poetry chapbook exploring themes of insecurity, doubt, lost fabrics, and what it means to fail so flawlessly.
