My dreams are like a book, way up on the shelf.
Far to high above me, for me to reach myself.
So I form a ladder, each rung a minor goal.
And slowly I get closer, through every step and pull.
But my arms get heavy, and I'm struggling to climb.
The book I thought was easy, is taking too much time.
Maybe it's not worth it, it's taking far too long.
I don't think I can reach it, maybe I was wrong.
And then I see below it, a book almost the same.
A few different colors with a slightly different name.
It's just a little lower, but still up so very high,
This book and the other could be brothers in my eye.
So I resume my climbing, excited at the change,
This one's a bit closer, and easily in range.
But that's quickly fleeting, there's so much more to go,
With all the work I've done I have nothing yet to show.
As I catch my breath, my gaze drops a little more,
who cares if it is lower, I've done it once before.
There's a book a little closer, I go for that instead,
Until the books I'm seeking are right above my head.
I reach out and touch it, and feel a little proud.
Until I look and see, that I'm barely off the ground.
I'm left to sit and wonder, what changed within myself,
As I stare with longing, at the book up on the shelf.
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Author Notes
I feel like my goals were set so high when I was a kid and I've steadily lowered them over the years for instant gratification. Now I'm nowhere near where I thought I'd be at and I have no one to blame but my own laziness. Don't lower your expectations because you get frustrated with your progress or get depressed, always give it your all because it's no one else's future but your own.
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