No Closed Doors

My soul is an impressionist painter
finding beauty at a blurry distance
so much potential and excitement
still waiting to be discovered

Feeling sick inside as I slide forward to notice
the soft edges have become hard and defined
repelled by the rough realness of reality
that contains concrete corners and lines

My eyes frantically search for another
frothy formless future far away
where everything can be perfect
suspended in ideals and imagination

The grass is always greener because
you can't see it well enough yet
to notice all the biting beetles hidden
beneath and between the bright blades

Dreams manifested can never hold a candle
to those yet to be reached and realized
the mind is the only place things can be perfect
a pleasant pile of pros with no cons

Fixed a few feet away from fantasy
the tantalizing glow behind a half-opened door
my essence is the same as a dissatisfied cat
unable to commit to open or closed

Savoring the sweetness of desire
before the bitterness of defeat
or the horror of an unanticipated
too sharply real success 
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