What is Yet to Come

I cry and cry
tears feel good falling down my face
I cry because I'm scared.
I regret decisions I've made,
priorities I've confused.
For as long as I can remember,
it's been my dream to be revered:
a scholar,
a leader,
a celebrity.
Society can't allow the stupidity of a teenager stand in my way,
However,
I'm more afraid then I've ever been,
in my life,
that it might.
I hear disappointment leaking into my mother's scary calm voice.
She doesn't realize that the disappointment in myself,
hidden only skin-deep,
is more then she'll ever know.
And definitely more,
it seems,
that one person can bear alone.
It's one thing to be let down by another,
and something completely different to turn inside,
realizing that the person you thought you were isn't living up to your own expectations,
and therefore doesn't even exist.
To see myself with these
failures, blemishes, only makes me want to turn away.
It pains me, more than I've ever known,
to not recognize, even myself, anymore.
I spend most of my time trying to forget
who I am now.
Listening to shallow pop music,
that's only really good to dance to.
Reading books that stress mere frivolous views.
I suppose I'm selfish for doing so,
trying to forget a life
that had
(and has)
so much going for it...
But it's so much easier
to waste.
day after day,
praising only small victories, over even smaller challenges posed.
Ignoring the large ones,
pretending they don't exist.
Although, this 'forgetting', it does open my eyes to parts of my life that I didn't realize existed:
Friends,
Sport,
and silly things like infatuation.
But, at the end of the day,
after my friends are gone,
the radio turned off,
the soccer game over,
I turn to face myself.
I learn, and remember, painfully
that there are no do-overs.
What has happened, happened.
I can only stand up tall,
and face
what is yet to come.