eating away,

never ceasing to amaze

and cripple the dreams of

my tired spirit.


Capable yet bound by

the chains of


weighing heavily across

my weakened shoulders.

I’ll never set the world on fire,”

I heard myself tell someone.


That’s frustration talking.

It knows there’s so much


that I can do,

so it throttles my naive efforts

no matter how  often

I ignore it.



that takes bites from my skull;

savours the taste of

any confidence I gain.

It bubbles out as different tongues,

harsh words,

unkind voices,

directed at the innocents

who show me nothing but love.


Frustration begone,

for it is you that ruins

what I can be.



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