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.