Can you be proud of me anyway?

I reach for the sun to be closer to your light,

I fly farther than my broken wings can fly,

They melt before I cross the stratosphere—

I come crashing down, and the splash is all you’ll ever hear.

If I fly higher next time, will you be proud of me?

I reach for the moon to bring you back a rock,

Taking a rocketship that refuses to start.

An asteroid crashes into the ship—

And I fall back to earth wishing on the shooting star that burnt me.

If I burned brighter, would you be proud of me?

I reach for the peak of the tallest mountain to scream your name from the top,

With a rope that’s hanging from its last thread.

I lose my balance halfway, the rope snaps, unable to compensate—

My eyes don’t leave the peak until my body bites the dust.

If I climb again tomorrow, will you be proud of me?

I reach for the bottom of the ocean to bring you back a seashell—

It slips through my fingers before I reach the surface.

You don’t see that I failed, and you don’t tell me I let you down. I hear it anyway.

You hand me a towel and a hairdryer, and ask me if I’m fine. I tell you my dismay, and you tell me it’s okay.

If I could be more than just “okay”, would you be proud of me?

I reach for a rose in my garden because it would look beautiful in your hands—

It wilts before I could meet you halfway.

I prick my finger on its thorns to restore the hue. It shrivels and decomposes before I can reach you.

You thank me anyway and put it in your hair. You deserve better than the insufficient love that I keep at bay.

If I loved you enough to give you something nice, would you be proud of me?

I reach for nothing at all lying in my bed of false promises I wish I could keep;

Drowning in the drops of water that flow out of my eyes and into my cupped palm.

I weep for me, for you, and for the love that runs oceans deep—

But will never be enough.

I will never be enough. Can you be proud of me anyway?

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