I’ve never scraped the bottom of a barrel
Nor have I sweeped the skies
Simply wafted past achievers
And collected tears from their eyes
And in all my embarrassment
My ghosts clap for me
My measure is the measure I set
Not a race to isolation
A pincushion of withheld tears
My lip is bloody from sewing my mouth shut
Fit to burst past even willing arms
And out of all the burned shadows
I’m seared deeper in these walls
Who knew that sideways was worse than going down?