The meanest years come when
you’re not prepared to live them
They drag you through the dirt and mire
to judge and mock with your cries
A year of patience has this been
Sing praise, December
I crawled back home this time last year
And ever since, it’s been made clear
that I was and am not wanted here
Not much farther will I have to crawl
this year, I learn to stand and walk
A few dreams smaller, a few months older
I have not grown any bolder
Dec 14, 2025
Dec 14, 2025 at 2:54 PM UTC
The meanest years come when
you’re not prepared to live them
They drag you through the dirt and mire
to judge and mock with your cries
A year of patience has this been
Sing praise, December
I crawled back home this time last year
And ever since, it’s been made clear
that I was and am not wanted here
Not much farther will I have to crawl
this year, I learn to stand and walk
A few dreams smaller, a few months older
I have not grown any bolder
Year of waiting•December