I was good,
but never easy to choose.
Good at holding it in,
good at fixing the cracks,
good at turning jealousy
into silence.
Every time I thought I’d made it,
The goal changed.
Every time I caught up,
I was already behind.
He laughed, and doors opened.
I tried, and hands slipped away.
I started measuring myself
in his shadow.
I was good,
Good at trying harder,
good at fixing myself,
good at believing
The problem was me.
Never enough to stop trying,
never enough to stop wanting.
He didn’t have to try.
He just was.
And somehow that was everything
I kept chasing.
I was good,
but never effortless.
Good at waiting my turn,
good at clapping for him,
good at shrinking
so I wouldn’t take up space.
I was good,
but never first.
Never chosen.
Never him.
Every time I reached the line,
It moved.
Every time I shined,
It wasn’t bright enough.
I’ve always been good
good at standing still,
good at smiling quiet,
good at saying “I’m fine”
when I wasn’t.
Never easy.
Never natural.
Never enough to stop comparing.
And maybe one day
Good will be enough.
But right now,
I’m tired of being good
If good never wins.
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 3:40 AM UTC