On Working Hard

I think I can do this.

i am so afraid of being wrong

and stepping out into a pit

trying to be the most poetic

the most wise

the most unique

i skip steps and then double back

to realize i should have just gone

step by step

small steps

and here i am

quoting a dead man

i carry him on my back

holding his eyes open

i can’t see unless he can

what do you want?

an explanation?

it’s all i’ve ever wanted.

i am so god damn afraid

i shall not alter my sight

lest i be stricken with grief

says who

why am i like that

i can’t decide how unsure i am

or the order in which i do

what is it again and again

that i can just speak out loud

it’s always late at night

the reversal and sudden sight

why then, why not then?

i just want to be doing the art thing

every day

i guess i just have to work hard

why did it take such a windy path

to realize i could have just flown straight

spineless and yet filled with determination

didn’t you escape whatever that was?

that pain?

that place?

many times over?

how many badges do you need before you strike?

Step out now,

you are ready.