Prompt: a poem based on the “Proust Questionnaire”
Parlor Games
I do not fear death, nor isolation, only pain.
The greatest extravagance is living comfortably in a world filled with individuals, equally as (un)deserving as I, who struggle for basic, daily necessities.
Honesty, that cupped hand which shields the lit match of opinion as it travels to ignite / consume / destroy a time-forged web of self concept and acceptance, is the most overrated virtue.
I was happiest in the moment when I had not yet learned which inherited dreams offer no reward.
The greatest achievement is waking up, standing, eating, breathing, on the days when you do not feel like waking at all.
I regret the day I chose an easier road, with no thought for its destination, because I had not yet learned the blessing of failure.