Averaged

I remember so clearly, like it was yesterday

The day that my professor said:

“Is Average ok?”

With all the thoughts that were fed,

With all the inspiration I get,

I said: “No way!”

Little did I know, two years from then;

Average is all I want, it is all I need.

It made me feel cozy,

It made me feel good.

But I ran behind great, all so hazy.

I rarely slept and barely ate for I had a dream.

I did not dream of ponies and unicorns,

But of winning and winning some more.

Because winning gives you a high,

Even to the most sober of souls.

Enjoy it while it lasts as it is fleeting!

I do not know if it was the wishful look from fools,

Or your mind tricking you to believe you are better

Better than everyone else.

Not the best, mind you!

I am too humble for that.

Days went by and months went by,

And winning became my thing.

I looked for a reason to cry

To feel important,

To show others how I had overcome adversity.

All this just to say: “Look at me I am great”

These imaginary problems had not so imaginary pain,

This not so imaginary pain needed eyeballs and ears.

That pain was feeding,

Feeding and growing on all that did not matter.

“Oh I have dry skin”

“Oh I have gained 2 pounds”

“Oh everyone loves me too much”

 

Today I turn back and see,

I was always good,

Good at almost everything I did.

Not because I am gifted,

But because I never fought a game I would lose.

For then I had a choice,

Those battles were for castles made of sand,

If not this sand then the other.

Today I do not choose my battles,

They choose me.

For some odd reason too may choose me,

Am I winning?

Is this a contest of who attracts most ill will to oneself?

Is there such a prize?

No there isn’t, so why measure?

Why count your rifles in the war zone.

Yes, this is war and all I am fighting,

I have no army not many weapons,

I do not dream of winning the war,

But of seeing through today’s battle.

Each battle reminds me of my yester past,

The place where good was not good enough,

A place where average seemed so poor.

Sometimes I kneel and ask God timidly shouting,

To throw me a relief package of average,

Or just below that, for that would do.

He didn't say a word, He didn't even wink,

I can’t keep kneeling,

I have battles to fight, and a war to win.

If my life’s good and bad moments were summed,

With appropriate weights and averaged,

Would I be winning or losing?

Does it matter? I have battles to fight and a war to win.