Hovering
drenched in the way
your words press into my core
like a nucleur expectation
i grew with the weight of three worlds on my shoulders.
fragile as i was ,
i attempted to carry all of them:
your last chance ,
your last chance to prove
that you ,were a good parent .
my last chance to prove
i'm more than a kid from the streets.
their last chance to see
someone actually make it.
mistakes surround me,
failures in my blood
thicker than our relation.
i feel it,
pulsating ,
as the tempermental flares
send uv flames
onto my trembling limp
limbs.
controlled by wanting ,
wanting to exceed,
wanting to meet,
at some halfway point
just so i know that I'm making progress.
because i've been running in
footsteps
so many have tred
that they have started to wear,
and soon I can't see if I'm still standing
in a shadow
or paving my own concrete.
i'm not a god,
and I can't do everything.
failure ,
taunting me
whispering
that i will never be anything more
that another human being,
striving for the power of the gods,
for the perfection
of the heavens.
But I don't really mind
my imperfection
because I've come to realize
that I can never be a god
with these feet that have been planted
firmly on this ground
and no matter how many pairs
of wings
I've managed to fabricate
We can't all be Icarus.
I can walk,
on this ground,
as clumsy as I am,
making mistakes
and saying to the
blood that I fear.
"I'll be okay"
and though your expectations
torment me.
Your words so contradicting,
your hopes foreshadow fears,
and create doubts
of being anything..
but I don't let them weigh me down
And though I may never fly,
at least I'll hover.
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