Trying for Giggles...or Cries

Struggles of the cat in the tree

I do not believe i am smart enough for my ambitions…or I should say ambitions I had. It is really difficult to not stop and wonder every week what i am even trying to do. I already gave up on changing the world, or to inspire it. What is left then but to enjoy my time here in disregard of my disappointing potential?

I just exist without any direction, even though I am an arrow in flight. My path is open, yet no target in sight. I do not even believe in a target. I do not even believe in a bow that shot me. I do not even believe I am sharp enough to pierce anything that could be in my path. I am simply hoping there will not be a target - hoping every target forgot to catch me.

People watch though. People judge, while other arrows pass me. I was blaming it on my feathers, my makers. Even on the winds that do not exist. The truth is: it is me that is not capable of using all the advantages I have. I am made of strong wood, yet cannot seem to keep it together. I do not soar over the world; the world revolves under me without ever slowing down.

Am I even needed? If I would go straight through the atmosphere and float around in space, would the world even flinch? I was not meant for something great, despite me being incapable of accepting mediocrity of myself. I am cannot even manoeuvre to a wall as to end my flight, incapable of changing my direction that way. Just stuck in this flight, without expectation within me. Enough expectation around me though. If only I could soak some of that up, but my wood is already full of rain.

Just here to witness other arrows. I do enjoy the music of their zipping past, their impressive straightness, their determined paths. If only I had something they could notice, not that i am making any effort. I used to imagine the perfect target, oh how a child’s imagination can deceive.

For the arrows flying over this line: leave me some of your existence please? I might use it, for better or, more probable, worse. I simply regret you even slightly bended the path to witness my dull point. At least, I am not the target at the end. That would be a very scary faith, would it not?