February 7th, 2007

Bang! yells the gun.
Could have been aimed at me.
The race began with
Mutual salutations.
With each leg of the race
Runners got ahead,
Fell behind.

The lesser-known short-cuts
Are seemingly solid.
I take the desired detour,
Slyly grinning
And inevitably fall,
Barely dragging
Myself back on the track.

If I know that the short-cuts cause
Defined pain,
Why do I keep veering
Toward them?

I want to be in the race,
But I feel like I registered
As a thorn among many roses.

Running or crawling,
I have decided that I will finish this race.