I am made of others, made of pieces. Sweating, i drag myself through mud. The grit scrapes off every piece of skin that isnt my own, but stolen from those i tried to double. With a grimace i remind myself i can never surpass anyone elses greatness, i have to create my own. I cry out and gasp for air as sand peels off layer after layer. I try to fix my gaze on the horizon, preserve the image. Slowly, gradually, i enliven, turning into the one i was meant to be from the start.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 7:52 AM UTC
I am made of others, made of pieces. Sweating, i drag myself through mud. The grit scrapes off every piece of skin that isnt my own, but stolen from those i tried to double. With a grimace i remind myself i can never surpass anyone elses greatness, i have to create my own. I cry out and gasp for air as sand peels off layer after layer. I try to fix my gaze on the horizon, preserve the image. Slowly, gradually, i enliven, turning into the one i was meant to be from the start.
Request permission to use this poem