Expectations on
me run high,
But spare me that
potential bit,
For talent, I seem to have nigh,
Save for the
flashes in whit.
Make up, I do try to, what I lack,
Paired up, with
my sweat,
Dedication behind
every act,
Outcomes in moderation might
beget.
Caressing my
failures in disquiet,
The first
instinct is tears,
Buried within a raging quyot,
A scarlet mound
of fears.
Aim for the sky,
they say,
And reach for the shiny stars,
What’s the price I have to pay?
A soul seared with scars?
Continue I may with aspiration,
But, I shan’t be deemed special,
Struck I am with
the revelation,
In the universe, am just a speckle.
There is an old saying that goes something like "It is not winning, it is taking part". Life is not necessarily building castles but just taking park and touching others lives. This is especially so with writing. So perhaps your last line should be "(I) am just a sparkle".
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