A Letter from Yesterday Me (poem)

We are the fuel of his fire.

The mulch of his garden.

The bricks of his house.

We are him, but younger.

I toil today, and die,

So that you may toil tomorrow, and die,

So that another may toil the day after, and die.

We are the steps of his ladder.

We suffer now so that he may live in the future.

Our reward is the pain. Our accolades are the tears.

We live and die in the trenches.

We perish by the dozens for marginal gains.

We are the baby steps. The hard work.

We are not happy. We are not at peace.

We are the sacrifice, and we do it willingly.

We have purpose.

We matter.

ATTENDANCE:

X X X - X X X X X - X X X X

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Author’s Note:

I wrote this poem for myself a couple of months ago, hoping it would help me survive the difficult days.

I knew I couldn't mend those days—there’s no salvaging them. They’re just bad and there’s nothing to be done about it, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to be done on those days. Over time, the small bits of effort we put in can compound and eventually amount to something meaningful. I knew that then, and I wanted to leave that message as a reminder for tomorrow me. Every tomorrow me.

This might not fit perfectly with New Year’s resolutions, but with the season upon us, I thought it might offer some inspiration for when the going gets tough.

Another thing that might help with that is the process I use when starting new things. You can find a longer post I wrote about that here, if you’re curious.

Happy New Year!