a lot of people are worried about making mistakes.
i am one of those people.
to me, each mistake is like missing a step on your way down the stairs
it's like stubbing your toe of a piece of furniture
it's like a rap on the knuckles
each of these things, each of my mistakes, they all feel like one stumbling step closer to a paralyzed heart, a bruised body, a numb soul.

i don't like making mistakes,
then again i don't like myself either.
is it because i am a mistake?
or because i make so many there's no room to breathe in this space because of the missed takes?

ah, maybe i should come back to this poem.
i was on a roll, trying to portray the pain perfectly but...
i think i've done it again
in fact, i'm sure i have
a mistake
yet another "uh oh", "oops", or "my bad"
in the history of me.

this poem was a mistake.
i wish i could take it back, just like my other faults
but the wishes of the inept are not made to be answered.
so, i guess i'll do what i always do
just move on
and pretend that nothing happened.