Failure is a true test of self-esteem,

As the kind of faith that one requires to begin an endeavor,

Is different than the brand of belief one needs to resist the temptation to resign,

And rest on laurels wreathed by others who have honored past achievement,

Who have bequeathed us with recognitions of our brilliance,

And our potential,

In those moments, I find,

That resigning is divine,

In it is all defiance,

All rage,

All expression of my sense of superiority,

I float for days on an air that I don’t then recognize,

As the exhaust from all the gas I burned,

When my tires scorched the Earth,

And set that bridge alight,

It is not then felt as my loss,

Until on about the fourth or fifth day,

Around the time God created living things to animate the world,

When I realize that I ain’t got a fuckin’ job.

Or a friend.

Or a work in progress,

Because that job was abandoned,

Or that friend alienated,

Or that work destroyed.

I am left with questions.

I am left with questions that I would pick a part,

If not then so overtaken by the needs of the circumstance,

And driven to begin the cycle again.

I have not yet transcribed those questions completely,

But they circle a sensation like hawks of the intent to heal,

And I cowar,

To surrender the condition feels far too threatening,

So I build pretenses for cover,

And hide,

Until those hawks relent,

And the questions subside,

And I find another friend,

Another job,

Another story to tell,

And it goes away,

For a couple weeks,

I rebuild,

I access that faith to re-initiate,

Re-adjust,

And acclimate to circumstances I have taught myself to consider primes,

Irreducible primaries,

Not the result of actions taken,

And mistakes made,

But conditions over which I have no control,

And must leverage in order to propel myself beyond their formidable terrain,

So as not to remain in loss forever.

I won’t lie,

Right now, I so want this to be the part of this work in which I reach a new understanding,

A new resolution,

A new plateau,

I want this to be the turning point,

My spirit’s pivot around a corner,

Providing new direction,

And Procuring invaluable understanding,

Reconciling some part of myself to a past that is gone,

Or locating a wish that I have ignored,

So that I may begin to evaluate its premises,

And research my knowledge of what is,

And see if it is possible to obtain,

But I don’t know what to do,

In those moments when I quit,

I don’t know exactly how I feel,

Except to say that I am utterly overwhelmed,

And scared of facing some inadequacy I feel I contain,

It’s just too big,

It’s too much for one piece of prose to rework,

So, in defeat,

I succumb to a cycle out of which I hope to draw more understanding,

And develop more of the self-esteem required to persevere,

In the face of difficulties that today send me running into the hills,

As waters rise and run through the civilized world below.