Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 24
I don’t believe in luck
and yet it infiltrates my thoughts
when it deems itself most convenient.
if I sit in my room,
playing whatever silly match-three
has snatched up my interest this week,
my losses are justified by,
“see, it’s really just luck-based.
I would’ve won with better patterns
already existing on the board.”
obviously, what I mean here
is that it’s based in randomization,
yet I never seem to think so.
and the same if I see a story
of a person or family
suffering the worst life can offer
and pity the down-on-their-luck few.
it’s as if I am looking
for something, someone else to blame
for my misdeeds, misfortunes,
but I never feel lucky
when I avoid them on my own.
good luck is used sarcastically
or when offering pleasant nothings
to those around me.
now, the concept of luck confuses me
as well as irks me,
but considering it is something to do
while I wait for new lives
on my match-three game.
lucky me.
Written by
tacet  F
Please log in to view and add comments on poems