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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2324587
a poem about knowing who you are
Arc and Spin

You’re out in the middle.
Alone with a hand-brake.
You promised a little.
And sealed with a hand-shake.

But nobody told you.
You can’t win a rigged race.
You might have to go down, baby.
But down’s not a disgrace.

At least you were standing up.
Not sitting around on your pancake.
Those grinning fools surrounding you.
They don’t know what strength takes.

So, keep standing in the middle.
Alone, your hands may quiver.
Never promised anything.
Nothing left to give her.

You need not tell them.
The race was never run.
This world you hold on your shoulders.
The spin has just begun.

You control the arc and spin.
The brake within your grasp.
You decide you lose or win.
Alas, no one to ask.
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