Most Likely to Succeed

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We are too alike, I now know
that's why we do not bend
we break.
When the clocks ticks hasten
and you swear you cannot breathe
you cannot speak nor hear
you can see through to me.
Glance your eyes in my direction
we silently acknowledge our struggle.
The anxiety creeping up
strangling us like a noose
and we hang ourselves with our misconceptions.
We are nothing.
We are no one.
We are worthless.
We are the outcasts of a school
full of "got it alls"
and "most likely to succeeds."
And because I cannot save myself
I try to return you to reality
to remind you that you're everything
and you are one of the "got it alls"
and you certainly will succeed.
In a crowded room, we know our pain
and I try, though I may not succeed,
to convey that I want to comfort you.
Forgive me that I know little of the word.
You deserve that strangely sweet
simple two syllables.
I want to tell you to speak,
because what you have to say
is more important and more brilliant
than any of the statements
these "born with a silver spoon" child
feel the desperate need to say.
I want to tell you to listen
as I'm not the only one
who knows you'll go far,
who knows that you're bound for a greatness
the likes of which only one or two men
has ever lived to know.
In our solitude, the crowd disperses,
and I know that my words will ring hollow
just as yours ring hollow to me.
We are too alike,
so we must know each other's struggle
in silence.

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