i hope my words are strange and wondrous,

like kisses that quiet all things superfluous,

so that we can all stop and

listen

life teaches you rather early on in life,

that you are destined, to fail at some point,

most likely at multiple points.

but the definition of success, they don't teach you,

is the picking yourself up off the floor.

at least they don't tell you that till you've wallowed for a bit,

your cheek glued to the floor in self-pity.

failure and i go way way back,

we're pretty good friends and i've come to see his coming

as an opportunity for success.

the same mistakes, twice, thrice, quadrupled and still maybe i'm making them.

but each time i pick myself up and realize, i am succeeding,

and pushing myself to a point where one day,

i'm not going to make that particular mistake anymore.

the problem with this is that mistakes are inexhaustible.

they never run out.

but i guess God is fair,

because so is success.

i made a bad call,

i take the consequences of that call.

sometimes good intention doesn't translate into good action,

but that's all just part of this fabric of the mistake->success cloth.

and to wear it, you have to straighten your shoulders and hold your head up high.

--

and yet, i'd like a Barcelona,

where there is no fall.

then i wouldn't have to take a chisel to my cheek and pry it off the floor.

and i wouldn't have to face that churning feeling, of turning around

to face the monsters created in the disconnect between ideal and real.

but i think people refer to that as heaven.

and that will come, eventually.

but not now.

i hear it again today,

fall better?

still hurts?

yeah. tough.

again.