Mediocre

I’m told I’m mediocre
And I guess it must be true –
I have no natural talents
and my skills are very few.

I fear my lack of brilliance
is embedded in the bone,
inciting resignation
like an edict cast in stone.

I set my sights for greatness,
But I’m always falling short –
My objectives simply greater
than my spirit can support.

I’m not so good at testing
and I’m happy with a C,
Though once, I’d like a perfect score –
It’s just not meant to be.

I crack the books for study
and I give it all I’ve got,
but the storage space behind my face
won’t hold an awful lot.

My trophy room is empty
and no plaques adorn the wall,
No ribbons framed or prizes claimed –
No victories at all.

Though winning’s not my nature
And success is not my style –
I’ll occupy the middle,
but I’ll go the final mile.

I’ll never be a leader
Or a tutor for the youth –
I’ll always look for guidance
and repudiate the truth.

I feel a fire within me
And a hunger to excel –
But I always lose momentum
and perhaps it’s just as well.

You’ll never have to worry
that I’ll pass you in a race,
And I’ll revel in the glory –
Just to get to second place….
Or third….
Or forth.