Racing

I felt it today:
a racing heart.

I am not my vita.
I am not my vita.

Chant a mantra.

I am not my vita.
But if I’m not—
what am I?

Racing.

I need to be exceptional.

How do I unlearn
that all I am
is what I am
on paper?

I need that paper
to say that I’m
exceptional.

Racing.

I need to be outstanding
to meet the minimum
criteria that mean
I’m an adequate
member of
society.

I need to.

No one else.
Everyone else
can be human.

And is that smart?

Heart.

It doesn’t make sense.

Racing.

I need to be the best
to be acceptable.
I need to be the best
to be worthwhile.

It doesn’t make sense.

Slow my racing heart.

Show me I can learn
that I am not my vita,
that I am beyond the
words on paper.

Show me I can learn
that I need not be exceptional,
that I need not be outstanding
to be an acceptable human being.

I am human,
and I am
allowed
to be.

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