u/Inevitable_Cup1979

A wise man once said life is short.
That wise man is now dead.
Part of me knows that I will die one day too.
Yet, there is this part of me that forgets I could die.

All my suffering, pain, sadness, would be for what?
Nothing—nothing more than dust in the wind.
It’s not like I give a shit about leaving a legacy.
However, I do give a shit about leaving without any regrets.

What if it all worked out?
What if the powers of the universe had more in store for me?
What if suffering was temporary?
What if I can finally stop being my own worst enemy?

So I fight my way out, start putting words into action.
I have done it before, right?
Wrong.
That was an insecure 17-year-old doing it out of necessity.

This time it’s different, I am doing it because I want to.
I have stopped pretending to be someone I am not.
And have started to be someone I am.

So maybe that wise man is dead, yet I’ll die one day too.
Maybe I will—or will not—die with regrets.
But at least when that day comes,
I know I lived for me and that has to count more.
Count more than any regrets.

(please feel free too critique this poem/share some advice, i am very new to reddit/poetry)

A wise man once said life is short.
That wise man is now dead.
Part of me knows that I will die one day too.
Yet, there is this part of me that forgets I could die.

All my suffering, pain, sadness, would be for what?
Nothing—nothing more than dust in the wind.
It’s not like I give a shit about leaving a legacy.
However, I do give a shit about leaving without any regrets.

What if it all worked out?
What if the powers of the universe had more in store for me?
What if suffering was temporary?
What if I can finally stop being my own worst enemy?

So I fight my way out, start putting words into action.
I have done it before, right?
Wrong.
That was an insecure 17-year-old doing it out of necessity.

This time it’s different, I am doing it because I want to.
I have stopped pretending to be someone I am not.
And have started to be someone I am.

So maybe that wise man is dead, yet I’ll die one day too.
Maybe I will—or will not—die with regrets.
But at least when that day comes,
I know I lived for me and that has to count more.
Count more than any regrets.

A wise man once said pressure creates diamonds.
As I age I often question if that wise man.
was, well wise.
you see i often put pressure on my self setting unrealistic timelines.
i often tell my self i will get _____ by next month.
i will get ____ in 3 months
i will be _____ by next year.

i put pressure on time.
maybe i have had it wrong.
maybe i am foolish
maybe it is unwise to question the wise.

maybe i am looking at wrong.
maybe i think to create diamonds — i need more pressure.
Yet, i forget that i don’t even like diamonds.
blue sapphires are hard but they understand their limits.
they still need pressure you see
too much they break, too little well they simply don’t evolve.
it’s that balance which is needed.

———————
This a poem for those who battle with the pressure they put on themselves, just to self sabotage themselves.

p.s I am very open to criticism — this is my first poem I have wrote since middle school. Honest advice/criticism is well appreciated!!