I can only imagine,
and I know my imaginations come short
but I do try during my infrequent
intolerable bouts of sobriety,
to put myself in your big shoes,
you wear the same size as mine
yet I dare not take a step in your shoes
they smell of heroism,
of sacrifices,
of courage,
-none of which I can claim for myself,
often, in my solemn corner that
reeks of surrender, and defeat
I think about you in distant lands,
foraging in foreign lands for a morsel,
perhaps wondering whether it was all worth it
you dreamt dreams for me
but then I grew up and wanted dreams of my own
they were blurry,
and I sought clarity among strangers
drinking away one dream at a time
now I am merely a shell,
haunted by pangs of my own ingratitude
unfortunately, I became me,
and I ceased being everything else
I ceased being me in my selfish desire
to become a stranger among you
I became a stranger when I became me
fortunately, I have no more excuses
I hope to shed this terrible skin of failure,
so that our paths can cross again
and I, for the one more, rise
and introduce myself one last time
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