I have failed at life
I don’t make anyone forget about monday
On a sunday night
I don’t get applauded for my exceptional mothering skills
I won’t be remembered
For my great philanthropy,
Or my award winning food, my style, my looks, my home…
When my time comes
And the world shuts my eyes
I’ll become a pile of ash
Sprinkled on a lake or some other
Sad cliche
Or gawked at and sliced open
By pimply faced med hopefuls
Or tossed in the ground and covered
In a garbage dump for remains
Where do I find hope
In the mundane
The constant, pointless grind?
Do I change my way? Stay the course? Fall on my knees? Do I plead? Cry? Laugh? Turn back? Run?
Will anything make even the slightest ripple of difference?
Will I?
I have failed at life
Just not at living
3 Likes
Aw come on! I’ve had a problem hating myself too. It gets irrational to be self abusive. I’ve killed myself. And I’ve done it without the use of drugs and alcohol. There was no real reason for that.
1 Like
I think maybe you missed the point of the poem. I am not a failure at living but at the expectation of societal norms. Its a kind of dark, macabre way of expressing that. Sorry
1 Like
I didn’t pick that up until you said it. If it makes you feel better, keep it. Stash it away, and take it out and read it when you need it.
Life is about living. So you’re doing a great job!
This topic was automatically closed 95 days after the last reply. New replies are no longer allowed.