They say don’t give up
like they know it will one day work out.
But the truth is, they don’t.
it’s speculation.
And speculation can amount to hope.
empty hope.
How long do you not give up
until you realize that in order to get ahead
you must give up.
That there are other dreams in store for you,
other people to meet,other obstacles to be had.
How long do you walk the cracks of a broken dream,
trying to figure out where you belong in it?
How long do slave away with yourself,
at yourself, inside yourself
battling the demons
through triumphs and defeats
until there is nothing left of you.
When do you decide
that being poor isn’t fun anymore
(not that it ever really was)
and that maybe you aren’t
as special as you thought.
The crossroad stands in front of me.
I have days to pick my demise.
I would walk to hell and back
barefoot on hot coals
if I knew for even an instant
that my dream bore hope.
I would rip away at the skin on my body
exposing my beating heart
to prove to the critics
that I was vulnerable enough,
talented enough, and damn it
strong enough to see my dreams
through to the bitter end.
But my hope is dying.
The doors aren’t opening.
The opportunities are becoming too hard to fight for.
My name has no weight.
I am becoming disillusioned.
I am questioning.
My belief is faltering.
and the doubts are gaining momentum.
and the pressure in undeniable.
fear contradicts my fate
but I must remember:
I am what I create.
