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Oct 2022
Prowling,
like a wolf
on the periphery of the unknown
betwixt knowledge and dread
I saw the dark truth
I felt the gulf
the waste
the expanse
the difference in power
the taste of defeat
the vice grip of the inevitable
the long, slow bleed of my dignity
flowing out
with the gold of my entrails
eviscerated by my pride
how I dared to topple the monolithic,
undeniable truth
that there is always
a better you
a better me
a better us, out there
stronger
bigger
faster
smarter
more hung
more fashionable
more handsome, more beautiful, more androgynous
more capable
more accomplished
more patient
more... loving
more empathetic
they know more random facts
they've been more places
they've known more people
they've seen more sunrises
they've counted every moon
their worst is better than your best day
he cares for her more deeply than you did
she loves that
she's forgotten you
he tells her what he never told you
and she loves him for that
you were always afraid to find out
they never invite you because you're not fun
what a downer
what a bore
there's always that one person
upon whom your envy is never sated
they lope in moonlight
flowing locks of grace
teeth bared in a frightful grin
they know all your cards
they can play you like a fiddle
they're out there
where you fear to go
the apex predator
the person you'll never be
but dream you could
and dreams are all you'll have...
I'm a competitive person, by nature.

And this poem came to me as I realized, one night while gaming, that I'd never be the best at anything. I felt a sense of futility about any pride I've ever managed to feel concerning an accomplishment of mine.

I watched myself, small, in a sort of third-person view, question why it was I have ever striven for anything, when I continually run into my betters.

It was a scary realization. But, I believe, it's ever more scary when you have no powerful allies in the world, or when, even your allies fear the world at large, and you're all united in fear. It's a condition that humility fails to pacify.

A deep dread. A paralysis of hope.

Enjoy!

DEW
Darren Edsel Wilson
Written by
Darren Edsel Wilson  33/M/Philadelphia
(33/M/Philadelphia)   
3.2k
   guy scutellaro
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