Try

I write my thoughts now –
In the night they will leave me
and I will never hold
this same sorrow again.

All the life I’ve been burdened with
has never yielded me victory –
riddled with silver medals
and prizes for participation.

The calls of those who try
reaches deaf ears.
Replaced with whining
in the minds of those
who think they are above others.

Indeed they are above others –
and they deserve it so.
But those who try and pedal
up the steep hill just as much
but just not enough
shouldn’t be ashamed –
nor should they be shamed.

I try to find the niche
in which myself can bud –
in which I can grab the gold.
And so I write because
I believe it will give
me the crop of triumph.

And I soon discover that
I write for more –
because inside of me I know
that I could take the words I feel
and make them readable to the
human eye.

And yet the words
that are scribbled in pen at
twelve in the morning
aren’t my own.
The silver medal continues
to take its place
on the shelf of my mind.

There’s no good end to this poem.
Only the goodness that comes
from continuing to try.
Trying to speak from your soul
but knowing you will never make it.
Because the gold unobtainable means nothing
without the pain made from trying.

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