Disappointment weighs heavily
on my skin. It's seeping into my
bones, and poisoning my blood.
And I'm trying to reconcile with
the idea that disappointment is
okay. That to fail is to live. That
not everything turns in the
moments we expect. That
humanity's greatest power is
to learn from our mistakes,
to create blueprints from
creations before us, and innovation
in front of us, to be resilient and
constantly sharpening iron against
iron.
But it's hard.
It's hard when failure has carried
such a heavy imprint since
birth.
When you were destined for
greatness but seem to keep
falling short as the years go
and as you grow older
and as you continue to
progress in this world that
isn't fair unless you know
how to play the rules-and
play them well.
Just say, "you're doing your
best". Just say, "you'll get it
next time".
Just say, just say, just say
the blanket words I wish
were draped over my
shoulder rather than
all the should haves
pouring down my
back like bath water
that doesn't really
take away the
filth.
- I'm trying, but sometimes it doesn't feel quite enough.
YOU ARE READING
passenger
Poetry(poetry and short story collection) "please come home" / my body and soul long to shatter the dissonance and become , one.
