My whole life I've had a bar set just above my head,
and my only task was to grab it.
Written all over it was the rewards and success I would receive,
the admiration and honor, the love and recognition,
and all I would have to do was grab that bar.
So I tried.
I jump up and down,
reaching higher and higher,
I was inches away,
I was almost there,
I just had one more jump,
and then suddenly the bar got higher.
But I didn't give up,
each and everytime the bar got higher,
I learned to jump farther and farther.
But what I didn't realize is this that each time I jumped
I dug into the ground just a little more.
The bar wasn't rising,
I was just sinking,
I was digging my own hole of demise,
burying myself in this grave.
This wasn't my life,
this was a pit of self-hate,
a manipulative game that wrapped me around its finger with a disturbing ease.
I feel like I'm stuck in this hole,
trapped with no escape,
each attempt I make to grab this bar of expectation,
the worse all these thing get.
I look up at this bar with longing,
and then a question forms,
Who set this bar?
Why is it here?
Was it my parents?
My friends and family?
No. It came it to me suddenly,
like a punch to the face,
it is I who have set this bar upon myself,
it is I who is doing this.
No one else.
I put this expectation onto myself,
and I dug myself this cell.
Now I don't how to end this poem,
because it doesn't have an end really,
as long as I'm alive, I'll be fighting this battle,
and as long as I'm alive, I'll be writing.
So now I've written myself into a corner.
I'll believe this is what they call a conundrum. Huh.
Do you ever have those poems where you have exactly what you want inside your head, you have everything all perfectly laid out, and then it just all gets weird when you actually write it? that was basically this. I had an idea, the idea kinda went weird, and the end was just, I don't even know what I was doing there...