Not everyone <br />is meant to be more <br />than ordinary, you say. <br /> <br />You told me this before, <br />and I dismissed you <br />because you might have been content <br />with that way of thinking, <br />but you were always meant to be. <br /> <br />We sit there, sipping <br />on something hot, <br />warding off the chill of <br />a newly departed season, <br />and I taste dead leaves. <br /> <br />These words, I think to myself, <br />and all others like them, <br />should be forgotten <br />before the last one unfolds, <br />because they lack conviction <br />and reek of resignation. <br /> <br />Hey you, <br />I say while hot needles <br />bleed down my throat <br />draining into a pool of cool, <br />I carry my world <br />in a sack over my shoulder, <br />believing that the carefully stitched fabric, <br />portends the greatness within. <br />It’s no burden to the likes of me, <br />while the modest sack you carry <br />looks to be much lighter than mine. <br />I say this with some bemused disdain <br />and pleased with my play, <br />I take another sip. <br /> <br />You smile, <br />and look at me <br />with what could only be <br />deprecating derision. <br /> <br />Look, you say, <br />rolling your eyes as one does, <br />my sack is certainly lighter, <br />and far more plain, <br />but I’m not struggling to carry it <br />and can walk fairly straight, <br />scarcely aware that I wear it. <br />How do you bear the load in yours? <br /> <br />I sheepishly look away, <br />unable to deny that I am <br />slump-shouldered from the weight <br />of a dazzle-bag of ordinary, <br />and shivering madly as <br />some kind of winter <br />crawls over my skin.<br /><br />Tara Teeling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-cold-blow/
