What if I don’t measure up?
If I get there, and I’m exactly what people think of me on sight,
Which is not much.
Even though I know that I can do the job.
The pressure of the steel ceiling which has yet been broken,
Bears on my shoulders and neck.
My job is to find the direction of my hearts compass,
walk that way, and continue bearing that burden of weight
As I slowly melt that steel,
With the slow smoldering of successes,
Which become bright and hot
Such that they are seen from thousands of miles away.
Undeniable.
Perhaps I will be a guiding star,
Part of a constellation.
But even if I am nothing less than a source of heat
To keep another person’s heart from going cold
That is enough
SickyBeat 