Terms Of My Arrival

I kept expecting a different conclusion—

With the same damn evidence.

Had to change what I submitted.

I put my name on a future my funds couldn’t cover,

Signed with intent, then the rent took another.

Ambition and arithmetic arguing nightly—

Both had a point, neither one could define me.

I used to read every delay as a verdict,

Cross-examine every dream till I talked it out of working.

Called it being realistic—convenient description

For a fear with a vocabulary fit for conviction.

Now I’m precise with the difference: caution and quitting,

One checks the depth; one’s opposed to the swimming.

I can acknowledge the current and still make decisions,

Put respect on the risk without granting permission.

I found a reason before I could fathom the route,

Gave the question some effort instead of more doubt.

If tomorrow’s collecting whatever I send,

Let it open something better than excuses again.

These are the terms of my arrival:

More than a pulse and a talent for survival.

I want a life I don’t need an escape from,

Something worth waking up early to take on.

I know what it cost; I can change what it means.

My next chapter needs more than a beautiful scheme.

Put my name where the work and the wanting collide—

I intend to be here when the good shit arrives.

I used to counterfeit clueless to sit in a circle,

Make a joke of myself so the silence would hurt less.

Now I ask what I don’t know, contribute what I do—

Being teachable ain’t disappearing from view.

Had a habit of mistaking correction for rejection,

Every helpful observation underwent an interrogation.

Now I separate the tone from the information—

Even awkward conversations carry useful revelations.

That’s a difficult admission; I can make it and function.

Self-respect doesn’t come with an exemption from adjustment.

I can say I got it wrong without declaring I’m worthless;

A revision of direction isn’t absence of purpose.

And I want compensation, vacations, some breathing room,

Dinner where I’m present, not distracted by what’s due.

Want the people that I love getting more than my remainder,

And a morning where the mirror doesn’t introduce a stranger.

I don’t owe the pain a tribute.

I don’t have to call it fate.

I can hate the way it happened

And still love what I create.

These are the terms of my arrival:

More than a pulse and a talent for survival.

I want a life I don’t need an escape from,

Something worth waking up early to take on.

I know what it cost; I can change what it means.

My next chapter needs more than a beautiful scheme.

Put my name where the work and the wanting collide—

I intend to be here when the good shit arrives.

Tomorrow can check my references.

I did something today.