The pot sits on the stove, waiting to be filled,
With dreams and aspirations that remain unfulfilled,
But every time it fills with hope and light,
The leaking faucet drips, and all is lost in sight.
The water droplets fall like tiny tears,
A constant reminder of unfulfilled fears,
Each one a drop of doubt and shame,
A signal that rejection will always remain.
The pot fills up with every passing day,
But the leakage only causes it to slip away,
The weight of failure too much to bear,
As it spills over, leaving nothing but despair.
The pot is never quite full enough,
The water always just out of reach,
A taunting reminder of all that's lost,
A symbol of cruel and heartless speech.
The pot begins to boil, heated by the flame,
As the droplets fall and the leaks remain,
A symbol of the pain and the struggle,
Of a life filled with constant muddle.
But even in the midst of the pouring rain,
There is a chance for the pot to fill again,
To chase the vein to the core.
A chance to rise up and try once more
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My name’s Daniel Arellano. I'm a junior in the LPS pathway here at Wilson. I love writing and reading.
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