a humble struggle (a work in progress)

excuse me for my lack of conceit
the humility prayer became my friend
so i tattoo it on my heart over and over again
i start to believe i’m in the orchestra of privilege
then i put my horn down
and batter my arrogance to the ground
yet it peaks its head out of the sky like the sun
illuminating the desire of success
as i refute thoughts of being the chosen one
yet their is not enough fabric to hide this facial dress

surrounding myself with balloons labeled
as they burst in the dark night like fables
of a boy that wasn’t truly able to tap into his potential
then prayed daily for a synonym to replace content

because no contention could intricately
sum the life of one who lived with so much love
and passion and desire only to be contained, or stable, or in a state of emotion that seems to lack just that
to be content is to in a way lack content
i see glimpses of it
but it stops my heart from being on fire

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