The never ending lap
The track is a circle that never feels small,
Just one more lap, one more start, one more call.
Spikes hit the ground, heartbeat taps in my chest,
They say “give it your all,” but I’m never at rest.
Practice after practice, the whistle won’t stop,
The sun sets low but I’m still told to drop
Drop my times, drop my fear, drop my pain,
Run through the burn, run through the rain.
Competition is loud, even when no one speaks,
Every eye measuring strength, comparing my peaks.
Stopwatches judge me, lanes box me in tight,
One mistake and I’m no longer “just right.”
I used to be compared, name after name,
Chasing their shadows, chasing the same.
So I pushed myself harder, ignored every sign,
Untill I became the standard they wanted to find.
Now they say, “Be like her, watch how she runs,”
Like I’m made of gold, like Ive already won.
But deep in my muscles, deep in my bones,
I’m exhausted, I’m aching, I’m running alone.
I pulled my hamstrings, not once but twice,
Paid for ambition at a painful price.
But I tied up my shoes and got back on the line,
Because quitting felt worse than falling behind.
In every other sport, it’s the same old role—
“Just use ur speed,” that’s all I’m told.
Not my heart, not my work, not the tears I hide,
Just how fast I move when I run or I stride.
They say comparisons make you better, make you strong,
But they don’t see how much it hurts or for how long.
Being measured and ranked like a number, a chart,
It cuts way deeper than being pulled apart.
Friends turn distant, smiles feel fake,
Because I’m the rival they want to overtake.
I don’t want to be someone they learn to resent,
But the fastest runner is the threat they’re sent.
This lap never ends, it just circles my mind,
No finish line peace, no rest left to find.
I love this sport, but it’s draining me dry,
I sprint with a smile while I’m breaking inside.
Still, when the gun fires, I rise and I go,
Because track is the only life that I know.
I run with my fear, my pain, and my pride,
In a never ending lap I’m forced to survive.
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Highly personal track experience grounded in autobiographical competitive running struggle.
Dense layering of ideas: pressure, comparison, injury, isolation, identity compressed throughout.
Overwhelmingly negative: exhaustion, pain, isolation, resentment, breaking inside despite surface effort.
Explosive kinetic intensity: spikes, heartbeat, sprinting, pushing, burning sustained throughout entire piece.
Approximately 45-50 lines; mid-to-long form allowing complex narrative arc and thematic development.
Rich metaphor of circular track as mental entrapment; personification of exhaustion; vivid sensory imagery.
Pure lyric internal monologue; direct first-person voice reflecting on personal struggle and psychology.
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