April 16, 2011
The Man Who Beat Me
It’s like I’m stuck waiting
for a moment that matters,
except the moment never comes
until it shatters
in my face
like I was running a race
and finished second place
and the man who beat me disappeared
without a trace.
Until I discovered that the man who won was none other than me
a version of myself that didn’t wait for opportunity
to be served on a platter
he made every decision, every action matter
Because every second you live is more special than the last
and if you don’t grab hold it’ll disappear fast
like the man who beat me to the finish line
I wish he was me, and what he had was mine.
maybe next time.