Author: Anonymous
That night, papers were strewn across
my overflowing desk, searched
for reasons of failure, for an
excuse, that was never there.
A potted succulent sat
by the paper labeled My Goals, browned and
shriveled, a New Year’s
Resolution that never was, and
a broken promise.
That night, I shallow-slept, sweat soaking
into my feather pillow, thinking
I didn’t sweat enough
when it mattered. My ears
burned, just as they did every time
my grandpa would slap me on the shoulder
asking in his thick Taiwanese accent
Are you number one?
I’d lie to him every time.
That night, I felt that big B float over
my head, taunting,
not B as in brilliant or blissful or best, but
B as in be better.
I sunk, delirious
my plush mattress swallowing me
whole, the weight of my anxiety pulling me away
from the infinite ceiling above.
I’ll never catch them.