I sit here on the edge of reality,
awaiting news of life to take place
it’s hard knowing your fate is in
someone else’s hands…
some stranger who doesn’t
know you, doesn’t know what
it’ll truly mean to give you a chance
— but I’ve been here before,
sitting with my legs dangling
over the solid side
of a rectangular world…
patient, thoughtful,
always ready to give thanks
and appreciate the chance,
the chance, oh yes the sweet
empty nothing of a chance…
when will I receive word?
when will the shot ring out
of the referee’s gun?
I see myself now, thrusting
with power out of the blocks,
fast twitch muscles
in full fledged flight,
cascading fiery propulsion
throughout my entire body,
fighting towards a future
where I get to be
a regular person…
wait, a regular person?
hah, I’ll never be regular
and to some extent
I’m sure that’s what all
the caution is about,
they know, they have an idea
of how regular I am
capable of being…
that’s why it’s taken so long
to be given more than
a passing glance…
well, I will tell you this:
I’ll steal the fucking baton
if I have to, if that’s what it takes…
I’ll meet you at the end
so you can see the sweat
dripping down
my nasty irregular face
Garbage Notes:
This one is thematically related to my recent post, Split Second Glimpses. There I talked about what it was like applying to jobs and imagining potential futures that might arise from getting one job over another. This piece channels that same feeling of hopeful uncertainty. But it’s also tinged with some resentment.