Feeling low

Low

Arrows pointing nowhere

Everyone else following unwritten directions

While I drift through the throng

Push through

Fall through.

I sit down on the pavement

My hands over my head

Frustrated because I’m trying every day.

I try harder than her, than him, than them

Why don’t I get a gold star anymore?

Every day I wake up early

And go to bed sore.

What am I doing wrong?

Where is the happiness at the finish line?

The only endings I see are deadlines I’ve missed.

I need a map, a manual

Clearly marked with straightforward directions.

But nobody seems to have one with my name on it.

And nobody knows who to ask.

So I drift.

Then I push.

Then I sit on the pavement and put my hands over my head

And I cry like a small, weak, lost child.