Dear Mediocrity,

Stop holding my hand.

You don’t want me safe,

You just don’t want me to fly.

I don’t blame you, though.

Your name,

Your game:

My life.

Quit using that word.

“Enough”,

I hate that word,

Especially when it describes me.

The world made you a box.

And instead of teaching me to stand on it,

You would lay me down in it.

And tuck me in beneath the high walls.

I’m too big for that box, now.

I’ve grown up.

The box was nice.

It was comfortable,

It was secure,

It was tempting.

It was.

Past tense:

Your game.

                Goodbye,

                Nate