Traveling

I never thought I'd make it as far as I have.

No one helped, no one cared, yet here I am.

They told me there was no point, but their disappointment pushed me further.

I felt I had to prove them wrong, so wrong so they wouldn't bother me.

As much as I dream to walk away and leave them in the dust,

I'm still in the same place, even if I don't think so.

I'm getting there. 

Maybe.

Hopefully.

I am.

Have I made it yet?

Are they jealous?

Have they had a taste of their own dirt?

The further I walk, the more I feel as if I should turn back.

There's no middle ground, nor is there a solution.

Have I made it yet?

This poem is about: 
Me

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