Dip your toes, dip it in, and take it out,

close your eyes and selectively watch,

and record only the sweet things.

Later, find yourself angry and sad at the same time,

feel splashes of how it goes,

how the wet doesn’t want to come out as tears,

but it’s heavy like flood inside,

and you try to suffocate it,

so eventually the mirror falls on its knees

and for some reason, the nine year old you

looks back at you in between sobs.

Be thankful because they absent-mindedly and sweetly

saved you from mistakes that were about to catch and kill you.

So I surrender, and hold my head up,

and focus on how my feet hurt from filing for hours,

and how beyond the smiling faces

hide physical, emotional, and psychological trauma.

Then it happens, and you feel it like

cool air at first, and it grows within hours,

that burning dream to be the best you can be.

So this is what ambition feels like,

I lacked it for so long, it feels refreshing to finally feel again.

Maybe it is only borne out of discomfort.

When I walked out of the doors,

it was the good kind of exhaustion

and I hoped with all of me, that I could be something

for others someday.




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