I don't know how
to be good on purpose
and so I stumble through
the days trying my best
to touch better and
falling into the divots
left where once the
ladders stood and knowing
that even if they hadn't
all been pulled up
like long ago bootstraps
I would've just hung
limp and grown cold
from the rungs miles
from the summit and
out of sight of the tarnished
golden ring.
I swung back and forth
an imitation of a pendulum
in my convictions about
truth and god and myself
and even about you
because I am built
with indecision and
bitter to the taste
you'll walk this earth
trying to spit me out
and find relief in
any other's embrace.
I'm working on myself
like the old car in
every sitcom garage
but the musical montage
won't start and the
waiting is ******* killing me.
Excuse my language
but love wasn't taught
in class for me.
I missed the part that
mattered and floated
out to sea on an ocean
of regret with a sinking
raft named
Who I'm meant to be.
I don't know how
to be good on purpose
and I'm probably not
going to learn how today
but if I keep trying to
be a little better
you may see me find a way.