We almost become a writer, a doctor, a great many things,
We tried to reach our dreams
We let the dreams die.
Now the days pass:
Family, work, hustle–
They seem to outlast
What if they are meant to fuel them,
Not be hindrances?
What if life is not a race & a success, getting to some penultimate
We won’t have to sit in our Lazyboys at the ripe old age of 80
And say, “I almost….”
Because we are made for absolutes:
Almosts don’t define us. Tweet This
We all have a bag of broken dreams
We may never sort through.
The best work is
I gave it my all.
He is not an almost.
He was, and is,
And this is all we need to really make it.
What if your almost is the door to what’s next?
This is Day 31 of 31 Days of Poetry. That’s it! Hurrah! What a month of writing it has been. I feel more disciplined and free to let my words be—which were both huge goals of mine. If you’re a writer, would you consider joining us next month for Five Minute Fridays? They’re a weekly way to write on one word for 5 minutes. It really keeps the creative juices flowing! Thank you for reading along.