I failed at perfection,
words came out of my mouth like cockroaches
instead of caramel.
I failed to find the one place I could get away
from it all,
to sit in silence while the hands of time
kept ticking.
To use time as my friend,
to embrace that the ticks were hisses
that whispered “One life.”
I failed at picturing the long road ahead
with arms of trees embracing me,
a haven for the broken.
I failed to see the light and ignore the darkness
that remained,
because the light was never turned on.
I failed to be prepared,
to be ready to spit the slurs of words spiraling
in my throat.
I failed at being easy,
being as complex as the sunflower plucked from
the flower bed.
I failed to be like the others.
I was the last tree in fall to lose all of its leaves.