forget about because

your straying seconds will sway to the beat of a tap routine you never attempted to learn
your tap shoes were two sizes too small
and there was no room to practice at home
and everyone learning was so much younger
and you kept falling behind anyways

those swaying seconds will swing to the motion of the home run baseball you could never hit
the pitcher threw too hard
and you ran too slow
and they pointed and laughed
and you were always picked last
and the bench was there for you

those swinging seconds will stomp to the marks of a painting you never finished
you didn't have the right shade of azure
and the artist's block kept hitting you
and the brushes were too frayed
and you hated what you saw
and starting over was out of the question
and another unfinished piece wouldn't leave a dent

those stomping seconds will startle at the sound of your shadow running away
and stutter at a picture of your seconds wasted away
coming up with a because
and
and
and
and
and
and

and the polaroid picture will go with your makeshift burial of regrets
and your swaying, straying, swinging, stomping seconds will cease to wake
resting just under the surface
just out of grasp
waiting for you to forget about your because

and you'll remember in the eleventh hour
your last words
and your whispered reasons

nothing was ever enough


I was never enough



but you are

wholeheartedly I believe that


but I'm tired of telling myself

only when I'm not looking in the mirror



there's the faltering and the hesitating and the apprehension

and there's the do it anyways

and lately, tomorrow's been feeling closer than yesterday