{ finishing project, day two }

i hear the voices clear as glass,
sharp as they may be:
you are so much less
than you were meant to be

i don't know if it's a matter of wasted potential
or a simple difference between
what the maker of my soul thought i could do
and the realistic limitations of my flesh,

but i would tend to agree.

the accusations are electricity through my hair.
i've been struck by lightning, my footprints forever
burned into this longitude. my grief is singed and smoking,
changing the landscape. there is no padded den,
no secret system of underground tunnels,
no shady sentinel forest to shield me now.
so the truth rains down:

you
less
so
much
less

still the storm comes, lions of grey surging on,
their muffled paws pounding the sky. in my heart i know
there is no way to live but to scramble up to the highest place,
knees bruised, gashed palms held to the thunderous sky,
and roar. so with a counter-rhythm in my chest
and trembling metal in my bones,
i climb.