The Me you See


 

The me you see, is just a pale umbra of whom I’m supposed to be.

I’ve come to  a wall and I can’t make the jump,

I try and I try and just bounce the hell off.

But what I really don’t know is that I’m just a toad in the road

and it’s just a small curb on a street.

It’s a cliff so sheer and high that it’s a trick to belie the eye.

I tell myself one more jump…kerplunk!

My little toad head hurts like hell from all the bashing

against the wall.

If I can just find that perfect crack to start me on my crawl to wind my way up.

But that would require luck…fuck!

Where the hell am I going to get any of that?

So I’m a toad.

Not a frog a princess can kiss

to relieve me of this predicament.

Sorry, no frog underneath this frog-like veneer miss.

But I will be the prince of toads one day.

Fuck the frog I say!

So I look for that crack in the wall,

no matter how small,

to eventually make my way

up and over.

To that other me

that I don’t yet see,

The Prince of Toads,

in all of his bumpy

brown glory.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2017

5 thoughts on “The Me you See”

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