My first serious attempt at poetry, not too bad.
Lost in feeling. Being who I am, while in the process of becoming.
There’s a path forward, which promises every coward to throw away his timidity and mold him into an identity.
But there stays a path backward, Again for every coward, turning him into a joke, that everyone loves to poke.
Remember, he’s a joke. Not a failure. Because he didn’t fail, just couldn’t appear.
A score of kids waiting before the screen. To show themselves and live their dream.
Some are placid while others timid. Now, who’s the unlucky kid? The one who stumbled, or the one who couldn’t proceed?
No. It’s a hopeful child with a wandering heart. Searching his name, amidst the maddening crowd.
He has faith he will hear it but also haunts him if anyone remembers it.
Eyes that suspend him Making him ask himself: ‘Why is the world so grim?’
We say a poor child, but do we see his wound? It is a joy to hide, but a disaster not to be found.
That’s the path, to be a joke. Everyone laughs, while the child fights to cope.