Thursday, June 20, 2013


And a sense of inadequacy lingers on,
a bubbling brook, sometimes quiet and soft,
a ravenous river, sometimes overflowing from unseasonably high rainfall.

Some failures shouldn't be conceived of as such I suppose,
some realities, less personal shortcoming, 
more luck of the draw.

Deciphering self can be hard.
I lost my rose coloured glasses with the me setting.
Most of what I see now appears in black, white, and 
impossible to distinguish shades of gray.

Things are easier this time I suppose.
But I still wonder in and out of each day,
questioning who I am, 
and whether I've lived up to my (hopefully) good name.

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