Thursday Poem: On Failure, and To It

TNG reader Mike B. submits this poem, the fourth in a Thursday series. Illustration by Ryan Blomberg.

I wrote this to keep my sanity after one of the lowest points in my life—losing my job and apartment in the same week and having to move back home. I felt it such a momentous failure that I had to write something equally momentous: a full-on sonnet. Old school.

But don’t worry—despite the subject, it has a happy ending.

On Failure, and To It

It tightens round my chest and dins my ears,
Not laughing—rather, welcoming me back.

My old friend’s presence comforts, almost cheers
Me with familiar dread, that warm attack
I welcome every time it comes. Why not?
It is the only friend I have, if friends
Forgive and reacquaint, their scores forgot,
Yet privately remembering make amends.
I hate my friend. I hate his grin. I hate
His lazy confidence, his being right.
I hate myself for loving him, but wait
Until his hold becomes less firm than tight.
Because it’s then my friend will do his worst
And let me live—if I don’t kill him first.

Read more Thursday Poems:
Depressing Lesbian Gift Shop
Snapshot
Subway Muezzin