There will always be those days,

Those days when they fire the starting gun

And you begin to fly,

But your ankle twists

and clips your wings

and you fall with a thud to earth.


Those days when you find yourself

sprawled on the sidelines,

blinking back hot tears

while the backs of others fly past,

fly fast, away from you.

And you are left, alone.

Alone on the sidelines,

Knee smarting shades of deep crimson,

Soul smarting shades of deeper humiliation.

And you feel so small,

But not small enough to hide.

You feel so alone,

But not alone enough to pretend it never happened.

You get up, because that is the beginning of brave.

And strong arms come to meet you,

Spending the next hour reminding you of flight.


Reminding you to breath.

Reminding you that you are beautiful

and strong and capable of greatness.

Greatness like rising, persisting, trying,

Conspiring with courage not to give up on flight.

Greatness like giving it one more shot,


Because you know, and you are learning,

That greatness isn’t measured by the flight,

but by the fight after the fall.

By the strength to fail, and then to rise,

and to chose to find your feet once more.

The strength to spread your wings and fly,

though you’re scarred and scared, 

 To soar.




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