the one thing he taught me was to reach beyond my grasp: never satisfied, always yearning...

take a deep breath little girl,

hold on just a little bit tighter;

your little hands can barely fit

around the rope that is holding it all together,

we know,

but just a little bit more,

it’s up to you.

in a whirlwind of fluttering thoughts,

fabricated needs,

and anticipated inabilities,

she pictures the world

as if she had just let go.

almost begging for an outside force

to give her the strength

to let go,

and walk away;

shame,

would be easier she thought.

We only do what benefits us,

in a world where heroism is a lie,

and courage is merely self preservation.

she draws into herself,

grasps firmly with one hand,

and with the other,

reaches as far as her little bones and tendons allow.

tears are for another day,

inabilites are luxuries you cannot afford,

and asking for help was a failed attempt

of joining the masses.

The fluttering thoughts

go into a box,

a box that she only wishes she could lock,

and focus resumes to the course ahead.

..in the back of her head

she prays someone notices,

but realizes that this is the sick truth of the myth they call martyrdom.