Substandard

substandard like the whirring of a make-shift A.C. in a window of an airless, artless house, the art of knowing how to live in the missing expectation of what should have been between what is and how much further.

substandard is the hopefulness of eager eyes and shining faces, met with grim distaste and floor watching because the truth to be told isn’t what you wanted even though you tried so hard, you were still: “not quite what we are looking for.” makes me think if they even know what to see when they ask for the resumes they seek.

substandard is the almost there, the not quite yets, the maybe tomorrows that line my days, that crack and crumble like paint drying too quick in a way like youth parched by a realization the good die young because they open their eyes.

substandard is the numbers that used to define what was most important in my life, how to untangle true knowledge from a life spent trying to measure up to nothing in particular just “something better” but better never comes. it’s glittery, sun-drenched, sparkling like shocks of lightening it always hits a little over there, a ways away.

substandard separates, disintegrates at the realization that true courage makes determination stronger than the what ifs and the maybes and substandard becomes irrelevant in never quittings and unending growing, the reaching out to be more because substandard is a catalyst to fully becoming. it is a clarion to measure what i am to what i am called to be.

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