Crouched down into the corner of a couch
Watching the three people around me.
Three fingers around me.
Pointing.
They seem to be talking.
The fingers, not the people.
As the fingers shake back and forth,
In a condescending way,
They seem to say,
Failure. You can’t do it.
You can’t do it.
As I sit there feeling smaller than ever
These giant fingers won’t stop.
Failure. You can’t do it.
You can’t do it.
It’s a new idea.
And I’m too stubborn for it to be true.