there is an
edge of frustration
making my tender
excessively brittle
chasing dreams
which leave my
belly empty and
head filled with
self loathing
always being the
runner up despite
entirely too much
effort given freely

when you know you
gave everything you had
and still manage to
come up well short
of imaginary goalposts
you begin to question
why you even bother
when disappointment or
pure rejection are the
only two viable options