Secondhand

A Poem by Berniece

I chased borrowed
dreams, because
I loved
the dreamer

I stood,
head down,
at a starting line
Wearing someone else’s number

I sprint blindly
Wait
These aren’t my shoes
Stop

I didn’t pick this race
So I walk
Dragging my failure
with me

I come in dead last.
Finished, but
not proud
Just hurt

Next race,
I’m not just benched
I don’t even have
a name

Those dreams?
they weren’t mine to chase
And they aren’t mine
to mourn