How many failures

until I decide it’s not meant for me?

Maybe it’s time to hold a moment of silence

for the dreams I once carried.

How many times can I fall

before my hands stop reaching for the ground?

What crushes me most

isn’t the failure—

but the time I can’t get back.

The shame of being wrong. Again.

I’m terrified I’ll be running,

always chasing,

never reaching the finish line.

It breaks me

to be compared to those too scared to try—

the ones who clock in and out,

settling for comfort

and calling it peace.

How much more do I have to sacrifice?

How much more do I have to give?

I can’t keep burning just to keep this dream alive.

I’m searching,

but there’s nothing left.

And still—

I keep looking for someone to blame:

the chaos,

the timing,

my mental health—

anything

but myself.

I’m terrified I’ll keep running

to the very end

without ever seeing

what lies beyond the finish line.

Let me give you the most painful truth:

Not everyone reaches the finish line.

Not every dream gets to live.

Not every effort ends in reward.

Not everyone has a purpose.

“You can do anything you set your mind to.”

—The kindest, cruelest lie

my mother ever told me.