Crawling through all these pitiful messes to the finish line
Peeking from the hills, for the thousandth time promising
It will be mine.
It’s been years swimming in self-hate so I learned quickly
That progress is not a linear uphill drive and all achievements
Might go swiftly.
Once in a while it’s too much, and my back aches from falling,
I’m hoping I can lay there forever without ever trying to climb
But the brain is brawling.
Seven stones in my backpack trying to push me off the balance,
Rubbing against each other in symphonies of pure elegance
With pricey valance.
Whenever I’m three metres away, I lose my self-composure.
The hills are now peeking at me. The mountain disappears. Again.
“No closure this time. No closure.”
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 