I Failed
They taught me long division.
I can take one problem and turn it into ten smaller problems.
I can drag them across and out until I look productive.
They taught me the handshake.
Two seconds to seem trustworthy.
Grip, smile, slip away.
They taught me the thank-you note.
Three sentences, one compliment,
a closing line that does its job.
Polite enough to file, empty enough to reuse.
They taught me how to parallel park.
I learned how to circle the block,
to pick the lot and walk.
They taught how to fold a fitted sheet into something
that suggests hope.
Fold it into corners. Shove it in a closet.
Shut the doors.
Cope.
They taught me please, thank you, you go ahead,
chew with my mouth closed, wait my turn,
make eye contact but not too much,
say “let’s do this again” meaning: I survived,
hold a smile through a conversation
I already left in my mind,
and answer “how are you” fast enough
to keep the day on track.
There’s a class for damn near anything,
a manual, a module, a YouTube tutorial
on how to poach an egg, ask for a raise,
how to leave a voicemail
that doesn’t make you sound insane,
organize your closet by color
like that’s what was wrong with your life.
There’s training for conflict –
breathe, pause, reflect, redirect,
say “I hear you”
while your brain is in the back room flipping tables.
They can teach you how to look fine,
how to breathe through meetings
like a person who has their shit together,
who sleeps and hydrates and has plans,
but
there is no course,
no textbook with a chapter called
How to Live Without You
to teach me
how to wake up
when you’re gone,
no longer here
and the room
still carries
you.
I just exist
inside it.
I failed.
I failed the test
for a class I was never offered.
(2017, © Julia Delaney)
Be Alive 🌱
Love ❤️, Julia
Healing through Loss
Rhyme & Reason
![[section label="Regret, You Silent Sculptor"] [row style="small" v_align="equal" h_align="center"] [col span="7" span__sm="12" span__md="6" animate="blurIn"] Grooves Regret works in the dark. Chisel and mallet, carving valleys in my chest, grooves in my mind, hollows I didn't know were there until I fall into them. It shapes with "what if," with "if only," with the door I didn't walk through, the call that went to voicemail, the words that sat in my throat and stayed there. It keeps reworking my memories, pressing new grooves over old, until I can't tell anymore which version I lived and which one it made. The groove gets deeper. The chisel returns to the same line. I feel it wearing through and I hold still for it like I'm helping. But my hands are moving too. On different clay. Something regret hasn't touched yet. Two sculptors. Same room. One facing what was. One facing what's here. Neither puts down their tools. [gap height="10px"] [ux_text font_size="0.75" text_align="left"] (2018, © Julia Delaney) [/ux_text] [/col] [col span="5" span__sm="12" span__md="6"] [ux_image id="27223" image_hover="glow" depth="1" animate="blurIn"] [/col] [/row] [/section] The past is already carved. What matters is who's holding the chisel now... Be Alive 🌱 Love ❤️, Julia [section bg="24103" divider_top="waves-opacity" divider_top_flip="0" divider_top_to_front="0" divider="waves-opacity" divider_flip="0"] [ux_text text_align="center"] more from this hour: [/ux_text] [gap] [blog_posts style="default" type="row" col_spacing="xsmall" columns="3" columns__md="1" depth_hover="5" animate="blurIn" ids="27202,8949,27229" show_date="false" excerpt="false" comments="false" image_height="56.25%" image_hover="glow" image_hover_alt="zoom"] [/section] [block id= "poetry"] [block id="disclaimer"]](https://eadn-wc05-15915244.nxedge.io/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/poetry-about-life-711x400.jpg)
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