Am I falling short
or do I fly?
While I miss the mark,
do I hit the sky?
Am I wondering,
do I answer why
I'm alive?
To make a space,
bushwackle path,
leave a sign,
dodge the wrath
of myself and leave the math to God.
Falling short, I'll hit the spot,
or the place where I was shot.
From the womb
of my mother,
I've fallen short,
but is there another place where I could be?
Is
short just the place for me to see
what I can do,
what I've been given,
my holy view
of hell and heaven?
Am I falling short
or do I fly?
While I miss the mark, do I hit the sky?
Am I wondering,
do I answer why
I'm alive?
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