If failure was a regular practice
What would I extol?

If failure was approached with grace and confidence
How would my priorities be ordered?

If failure was a practice rather than an uninvited test
Where would I find my footing?

If the process of failing involved identification, ownership, utility, and redemption
How would I live?


If failure was not disguised as an enemy, but rather accepted as a comrade,
If failure was a prudent advisor,
If failure was embraced as strength.

It is I. Not identifying, owning, or utilizing failure
It is I. The nourisher of my own social coma.
It is I. Fearful of failure.

Warnings are conditioned in my being.
Warnings I have engrained in my mind.
Warnings I allow to thicken in my false-self.

If failure was a genuine and honest practice,
if I were to detain from projecting this all on my external factors,
maybe I could dip into the subterranean stream.