FailureA Poem by Erika JonesI can feel myself crumbling, falling
away from my place in the world where I
should feel comfortable in. Like there’s something or
someone beside me pushing me off the stand of
self-confidence and self-belief so I can fail at everything I
want to be. There’s always someone
whispering in my ears on both sides of the spectrum-- one telling me “You’ll never be
anything” I don’t know who or what to
believe anymore because I am starting to think the one whispering “failure,
failure, failure” is the one that is right, that is true. I never do anything right anyway
so what is the point in thinking
otherwise? I can feel myself shattering,
blowing away in the wind as dust because there is nothing
there holding me together. That glue has been taken away
from me like a candle is blown out. There is ice where there should
be a fire, there’s nothing left where that
fire used to be and nothing can fix it. “Failure, failure, failure”
repeats in my head and in my actions because nothing seems to change. I have tried telling someone
about my problems but it seems it all goes in one ear
and out the next of the person I am talking to
and it leaves me feeling like nothing I do will
work to fix it. I will always be reminded of
this ignorance. I can feel these tears from
forgotten memories falling like rain without an end because
there is nothing there to stop them. There is nothing here to help me
forget the pain that caused these tears
to show themselves again because the wall that used to
hold all these feelings back from the surface is gone-- the bricks that I had sculpted
into the supposed everlasting strong hold has weathered away into the dust I
am becoming so there is nothing that I can
use to hide everything from the world. And yet they wonder why there is
something wrong with me. They ask me why I am crying. They ask me why I feel this way. They ask me what made me this
way-- They ask, but I have no answer
for them. I can feel myself wishing that
it would all end and that everything that I feel
would just wash away with the force that is
keeping me alive. Everything inside of me is building
up into this one, giant, crushing
force that will obliterate me and exterminate my
existence from the stand I used to call
home. Home is the place I should feel comfortable in-- should feel wanted-- should feel loved in. But I can still hear the
whispers of “failure, failure, failure” on constant rerun and I can’t
reach the stand the record player is sitting on
because it is too far away for me to
reach. I can feel the support I
desperately need This skeleton house is caving in
and leaving me “Failure"-- for the ones I loved. “Failure"-- for the ones I cherished. © 2016 Erika JonesFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
257 Views
1 Review Shelved in 1 Library
Added on March 27, 2016Last Updated on April 1, 2016 AuthorErika JonesMedway, OHAboutI'm Erika and I'm a 25 year old Author. I've self-published a small poem book called "Screams of the Outcast" a couple years ago and slowly selling. Not only do I like poetry, I love writing novels an.. more..Writing
|