if i have ever failed you i am so sorry, i did the best i could my whole life and if it hasnt been enough im sorry i didnt live up to your expectations. i have done everything i can to make a good life for us here, i hope it really is enough.
Its the dreaded word, the dreaded verb nobody wants to be associated with. I feel like this when it comes to grades the job market and sniff my love life, but things are looking up, right?
my memory failed me. i can’t remember the word i’m supposed to remember. perhaps like a drawer a human brain has its limit to how much it can store memories. some may attribute the inability to remember to aging, but it could be part of human\’s survival tactic.
ok, coincidence or fate whatever here comes a day where we must personify a word for the action to mimic the ways in which we work. failure always has a way of letting u know how conformist we are.
Failing isn’t anything to worry about. To say that I have failed is a false statement because to me, failure doesn’t exist. Failure happens when one gets down on themselves, but experience should be the true moral of everyone’s story, whether the ending is positive or negative. Our consequences cannot cause us to brood in our own ideas.
It might have failed. It might have crumbled before my eyes, a structure balanced so tediously… nothing would have saved it. There were only moments before my hard work was lost. I should have seen it coming, should have recognized how precarious I was letting the thing grow to be. A relationship can not be built from sheer willpower. It needs a foundation in a mutual affection. I know though, that where one has once failed, knowledge is gained. Tomorrow I will build a tower with that knowledge. Something so fortified by strength, each brick laid perfectly, that it will not fall. Starting from the bottom up, a second chance.
If fear failure more than anything else. It’s why I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was fifteen. It’s why I still don’t know how to drive. When I see other people succeed at something, I just know I will fail. I have pretty poor self esteem.
failed…..everyone fails sometimes….everyone fails throughout life but the thing about failing is we learn from it and we correct ourselves. We learn not to fail or get better at things we failed at before. We better ourselves in the process.
there were many failed attempts — it was like pulling a stubborn horse into a raging river, a newborn from its mother’s warm, safe arms — but we finally formed into one solid unit, one person united and loving; together, perhaps for eternity and perhaps not.
Take-off was aborted. Somewhere in the time the plane left the terminal and taxied to the start of the runway, somewhere in the silent shell of the vessel, something went wrong. Blank faced observers stared at the plane idling on the tarmac, its wheels innocently toeing the thick white line that marked the spot.
The scheduled departure time was long passed before anybody began to murmur, ‘wasn’t it supposed to have left by now?’ The men in the radio tower noticed quickest of course, but their repeated calls to the cockpit of the flight yielded no more than static, even as urgency steadily strained harder and harder against their voices. Other planes needed to land. Other planes needed to take off. At the very least this sullen aluminum hulk would cause costly delays in airports across the nation. At worst it would cause miserable delays in the funerals of those who would be vaporized like bomb fuel in the collision of a commercial torpedo, whose bodies would take painstaking searches to be sifted out and prepared for burial. At worst was always on the minds of most folks anywhere near an airplane.
No radio call would elicit a response from the cabin. No lights could be flashed to provoke a movement. The plane had simply sidled up to the starting line, assumed the starting position, and remained frozen that way, even as personnel began to scurry across the tarmac, drawn to its metallic bulk as if it were a magnet and they scores of iron filings. As the staircases on wheels pulled closer, the men already on their balconies tried peering into the tiny portholes. The lighting was dim inside the plane, dusk was settling, and coincidentally none of the men upon the stairs had excellent vision, only one had even had time to sweep up his glasses in the tense rush that had caught them up only moments ago. But despite all these hindrances, they still expected to see at least one irrevocably human face pressed up against the plexiglass, trying to figure out what they certainly noticed to be a problem too. All that could be seen from those squinting eyes were the grey-brown silhouettes of seat back chairs.
The door swung open easily, it’s hinges turning with a cooperative silence. The man with his glasses rushed in to confirm the fragment of the strange tableau he had beheld from outside. Even without his spectacles he would have known it. There was nothing but emptiness and an eery silence to welcome him aboard. Air condition and electricity contributed a whirring, humming white noise. The frantic commotion from outside was not invited in as calmly as Glasses and his few comrades had been. Any outside sound was met with the wall of silence that had surrounded the ship; errant noises were consumed by the humming of its innards. Time was stretching out unusually long for the men inside, seemingly reaching its arms out behind its head with a yawn and leaning back languorously while on the watch. Glasses and his astigmatic fellows blinked around with apprehension in the face of the nearly normal calm that they had walked into, filtering through the rows of seats. One ventured a hand to the latch of an overhead compartment. With a click and a hiss that shot through the air like an arrow, the lid swung up.
Carry-on bags awaited retrieval by their owners in a variety of manners. A businessman’s laptop centered itself professionally atop its companion briefcase on the far end of the compartment. An ukulele in its case leaned against a tattered backpack that slouched in the rear. A motherly purse tried to restrain twin lunchboxes, but as the hatch opened she lost her grip and the two tumbled out, gyrating prisms of green and pink. The spectators would have sworn the two boxes floated out and down to the ground in a zero gravity ballet dance. The clatter and pop as they hit the ground and burst sounded like cannons and gunfire in comparison.
Glasses bent slowly to the lunch spilled across the aisle, tension apparent in his eyes and bated breath. He fingered a bag of fruit snacks and jolted nearly halfway across the aisle before arresting himself when they gave out a crinkle. There was no humor in the high, breathy laugh they all gave out. It was as Glasses was collecting himself that he and the few others on the plane began to wonder belatedly, for the second time that evening, whether something was wrong or not. Nobody else had yet join them on board. Certainly someone should have rushed up the stairs and through the amenable aero-portcullis by now.
As they were shiftily wondering, making inquisitive glances and gestures to one another (no words, nobody wanted to break the silence), they began to notice too a dull undertone to the wash of static sound that surrounded them. It was the engines, they thought. The engines were picking up speed. Then with a jolt the plane began rolling again. Every man that had entered the plane lunged back to the door at the start of motion. For many this meant flinging themselves desperately over seat backs. Others barreled straight down the aisle, bouncing off of the edges of the padded airline seats like mad, yellow-vested, pin balls. The handful of men produced enough commotion for a party ten times their size. One man in the middle of the rush was flung into flailing tumble by an unassuming PB&J sandwich squatting on the floor. Nobody was stopping to help him up, instead they went leaping over him as he dazedly pieced himself back together. It wouldn’t have mattered of they had. The first to the door finally broke the bane of silence with an anguished yell. The door was closed, closed and refusing to open. What had been a gracious help to the inquisitors now faced them down with a dark and looming menace. A few stayed to throw themselves against it, terror taking command of their actions more and more. The rest flew to the cockpit. The door there was just the same, a sinister impasse.
Glasses yelled into the unknown of that little room. What’s going on? What are you doing? Is anybody in there? An odd moment of quiet returned, he and the others strained their ears, turning them to the door, listening for anything. Just beyond the shudders and clangs of the other men trying to free themselves in the background the listeners could pick up a light chatter and clicking. As they strove with mounting intensity to sense every slightest vibration in the airwaves coming out from under that door, they made it out to be the fiddling of the knobs and buttons and switches that were embedded in nearly every space of a commercial airline cockpit. The flipping of these switches and the cheery banter of a pilot. He was making small talk to his co pilot as he prepared the plane for takeoff. The co pilot was not making a peep though. At this point the men could have heard nearly anything. The engines outside were screaming in their ears, the thuds and cries from the door jarred their teeth, and this carefree chatter tickled the hair on the back of their necks. There was not one breath from any co pilot that was in that room.
There was then a greater cry from the group behind. One man rushed over and explained, becoming calmer as he spoke, the words flooding out at first but slowing finally to an absent trickle. It seemed the worst was to come. As the plane had begun turning to orient itself down the mile long track of runway, the men at the door had noticed two things. One, that they could see only one thing outside. Two, that thing was an incoming flight, apparently forced to land by an empty tank. The accelerating plane on the ground was working itself up into a frenzy to meet it head on. Everywhere the men were grabbing at any surface they could find purchase on as the plane’s change in inertia began pulling them back and to the ground. They were unrecognizable, Glasses had lost his glasses and now they were all identical stumbling mannequins. Soon they were plastered on walls or tumbling to the floor while the roaring outside filled the whole world. The plane leapt from the ground just as the other was completing its descent. From outside, two gleaming points sped toward each other. For a moment, time hiccuped as they met; scintillating motes swallowed the sky.
There was darkness. Light slowly seeped in, heralded by a stale whispering of air. I woke up from my nap with the air conditioning vent blowing in my face. I buckled my seat belt with a nervous click and tried settling back down to sleep. My efforts were futile. Needless to say, I failed to fall asleep on that flight again.
i HAVE FAILED MY TEST! HOW COULD THIS BE! What is fail anyway? I don’t understand, I DID the work! I just allowed myself…a forget, I don’t even know what I’m saying….see THAT right there Ms. V IS A FAIL! Who invented the word fail? Where does it come from? Man I have the stupidest questios ever, no joke! Man…fail, fail, faily-fail fail. xD Chad…yup good times… Okay I think it’s been like fourty seconds? I don’t know, maybe know forty five! :D I CAN COUNT! couting 1 2 3 5…fail! See real like falures are everywhere, in designs in stores in america (DEFINETLY) I think I spelled that wrong…FAIL!
I failed. Now, failure is something we all identify with, but the funny thing is that we usually pin it on ourselves. Why is that so? Why do we need to torture ourselves with the idea of regret? Of failure?
Failure is a concern a fear a concept, something to avoid, something that can’t be avoided. It happens to me, to you, to everyone, and anyone who’s ever succeeded has failed enough to know what not to do. Don’t fail me now, and if I do, will it matter to you?
O god to be honest this if probably a bad omen, however we all learn from this, and learning is the most important thing we do in life so I guess without failure this is no progress. Failing and success.
I can’t even count the number of times I’ve failed. I feel like I fail all the time. But I’m still here. So I guess I’ve succeeded more. Thats comforting.
I shouldn’t have drank that liquor, I shouldn’t have. I knew it was time to stop, but it drew me in, enticing me with its flamboyant irresistible nature. I was weak, and tired and I couldn’t, wouldn’t say no.
And I failed.
I shouldn’t have drank that liquor. If I hadn’t drank that liquor, if I had stopped when my head told me to this wouldn’t have happened. If I had just stopped, I would have noticed that two of my friends were missing.
I would have seen him take her aside and guide her through the narrow hallway into his den, into his layer. I would have seen her sway from side to side, drunkenness in her steps. If I weren’t so busy drowning the amber liquid I would have heard her pleadings and soft cries of ‘no’. I would have. I swear I would have.
I would have barged in there and stopped that motherfucker before he laid one finger on her. I would have castrated him, made him pray to all his saints for mercy. I would have made him wish he never even thought of taking advantage of her. I would have, I swear I would.
Before he laid her on the bed. Before he disposed of her last defenses and with one swift move, unceremoniously plunged deep inside her core, taking with him her innocence, her trust, her dignity…
But I failed.
Oh God, I would have stopped him I swear. If only I wouldn’t have drank that liquor.
I’ve failed you. You placed your trust in me. You thought you knew who I was, and I lied to you about the essence of who I am. But I still love you. I’m still me, and I am me no matter what, and I love you. I miss you terribly. But you have your new life and there’s nothing I can do. I wish I could stop lying, and I don’t know why I do it. I’ve not only failed you, I’ve failed myself. I often hate myself for my failures.
trepidation is only a safety net.
it lingers daily…
it asphyxiates every aspect of peace within my life
pulls me away.
but if every minute is planned
not another second will be filled with failure.
only the time it takes to create the plan
the anxiousness
the stress
is when i feel as if i’ve failed myself.
is pre-meditated failure more acceptable–
than accidental?
people can’t see what i do to myself,
leaving no room for judgement…
I was a failure at one point, always letting other determine my success. I failed at more than one thing a day. That was a the hard part, getting back up again. Who knew that so many people suffered from failing. Though failure is curable it’s hard to get over, or at leas that’s what they tell me.
he said he failed and everyone believed him. only because he said so. only because everyone sees him sitting in the corner, head down, tears falling into his sulking hands dangling from the arms that rest on his knees. he said he failed, so he looked like he failed. only the girl who sees him from the other side of the room knows that failure is not his case. No matter how much she loves him, she knows it’s not up to her to believe.
I’ve failed. Failed to accomplish the easiest task for many to perform. A task so simple, my little sister could do it for me. And she’s eleven. I’ve failed at showing my true feelings. I’ve failed at opening up, and just saying what was on my mind. I’ve failed myself, and I’ve failed you.
Last summer i failed my admission test
i was so sad because of my failure that I hadd to cry day and night
it was awful for mom and dad to see that because They love me like i lov emy cat hahah
i thinf failing is a chance to grow as a person to learn from your mistakes.
I failed at being a friend. I want to be a good friend to people and people sometimes open up to me. But then I become flakey and let them down. I miss those people a lot. I ruin my friendships and all I want is for them to be happy. Maybe I try too hard at first and then falter a bit. I work too much. I tend to be jealous and people hurt me. I just want a bestie that everyone else seems to have. Someone to hug and call when I am sad. But i’d let them down too.
down on the ground, down, beneath myself, i have fallen, failed, freed my soul of the superior actions expected of me. i have been saved, freed, become my own. a failure is admittance to humanity.
Failed. Like in 5th grade when i got my first F. or when i returned home from my internship because my mentor didn’t like my personality. Failed, like when I gave up on dating Mikey, or when I couldn’t handle being alone after him. Failure after failure.
It was a long walk back to the car. Smiles were nowhere to be seen on the faces that Billy passed in the parking lot. Looks of longing, longing that he would have made that catch.
Sadness. Tears, because you tried so hard and it wasn’t enough. Never enough. Failure at things makes you feel like you are a broken person. Who made you so wrong.
But then you laugh. Failure can be funny in its own ironic way.
Today I failed at getting things done. I also saw that someone wrote FAIL at the top of a building. I thought that was pretty awesome. Xavier thought that those people were crazy. I think I am probably going to post about it online.
When for the first time, i decided to stop moving on, because i was scared of failure, i actually failed horribly. The biggest lesson i learned was that I should always keep moving on, because i will be a losed anyways if i dont.
i failed to do it. i wanted to, but i’m nervous around him. i should have just pushed him against the bed and jumped him. he would have done it. he’s wanted to fuck me for years. but i’m also failing to stand up to him. because i want more than a hook-up. does he? fucking a. i dunno. i’m a failure.
I took the trip. Not for any particular reason. But it helped me get my mind off of things. It made me feel better about myself. It made me feel free of earthly constraints. But trips never last forever. And when I got home, all it took was one push to force me back into reality. Everything I had worked up in that small amount of time meant nothing. Sometimes, I don’t know why I try.
it is not my fault but I have failed. I keep sharing with people, hoping to feel validated. Just another form of gossip. No fresh visions tonight; tonight I lick my wounds and ignore the pressing words.
if i have ever failed you i am so sorry, i did the best i could my whole life and if it hasnt been enough im sorry i didnt live up to your expectations. i have done everything i can to make a good life for us here, i hope it really is enough.
Failed, to fail. never a positive word I don’t think.
I failed to think of something good to write here…
Its the dreaded word, the dreaded verb nobody wants to be associated with. I feel like this when it comes to grades the job market and sniff my love life, but things are looking up, right?
my memory failed me. i can’t remember the word i’m supposed to remember. perhaps like a drawer a human brain has its limit to how much it can store memories. some may attribute the inability to remember to aging, but it could be part of human\’s survival tactic.
I can’t help but think that I’ve failed you all.
ok, coincidence or fate whatever here comes a day where we must personify a word for the action to mimic the ways in which we work. failure always has a way of letting u know how conformist we are.
Failing isn’t anything to worry about. To say that I have failed is a false statement because to me, failure doesn’t exist. Failure happens when one gets down on themselves, but experience should be the true moral of everyone’s story, whether the ending is positive or negative. Our consequences cannot cause us to brood in our own ideas.
It might have failed. It might have crumbled before my eyes, a structure balanced so tediously… nothing would have saved it. There were only moments before my hard work was lost. I should have seen it coming, should have recognized how precarious I was letting the thing grow to be. A relationship can not be built from sheer willpower. It needs a foundation in a mutual affection. I know though, that where one has once failed, knowledge is gained. Tomorrow I will build a tower with that knowledge. Something so fortified by strength, each brick laid perfectly, that it will not fall. Starting from the bottom up, a second chance.
If fear failure more than anything else. It’s why I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was fifteen. It’s why I still don’t know how to drive. When I see other people succeed at something, I just know I will fail. I have pretty poor self esteem.
Someone who has tried a lot. Someone who has believed that they could have succeeded. Myself.
oh fuck. I did it again. Never a success. Cannot even write about it in 60 seconds. It is over.
failed…..everyone fails sometimes….everyone fails throughout life but the thing about failing is we learn from it and we correct ourselves. We learn not to fail or get better at things we failed at before. We better ourselves in the process.
there were many failed attempts — it was like pulling a stubborn horse into a raging river, a newborn from its mother’s warm, safe arms — but we finally formed into one solid unit, one person united and loving; together, perhaps for eternity and perhaps not.
Take-off was aborted. Somewhere in the time the plane left the terminal and taxied to the start of the runway, somewhere in the silent shell of the vessel, something went wrong. Blank faced observers stared at the plane idling on the tarmac, its wheels innocently toeing the thick white line that marked the spot.
The scheduled departure time was long passed before anybody began to murmur, ‘wasn’t it supposed to have left by now?’ The men in the radio tower noticed quickest of course, but their repeated calls to the cockpit of the flight yielded no more than static, even as urgency steadily strained harder and harder against their voices. Other planes needed to land. Other planes needed to take off. At the very least this sullen aluminum hulk would cause costly delays in airports across the nation. At worst it would cause miserable delays in the funerals of those who would be vaporized like bomb fuel in the collision of a commercial torpedo, whose bodies would take painstaking searches to be sifted out and prepared for burial. At worst was always on the minds of most folks anywhere near an airplane.
No radio call would elicit a response from the cabin. No lights could be flashed to provoke a movement. The plane had simply sidled up to the starting line, assumed the starting position, and remained frozen that way, even as personnel began to scurry across the tarmac, drawn to its metallic bulk as if it were a magnet and they scores of iron filings. As the staircases on wheels pulled closer, the men already on their balconies tried peering into the tiny portholes. The lighting was dim inside the plane, dusk was settling, and coincidentally none of the men upon the stairs had excellent vision, only one had even had time to sweep up his glasses in the tense rush that had caught them up only moments ago. But despite all these hindrances, they still expected to see at least one irrevocably human face pressed up against the plexiglass, trying to figure out what they certainly noticed to be a problem too. All that could be seen from those squinting eyes were the grey-brown silhouettes of seat back chairs.
The door swung open easily, it’s hinges turning with a cooperative silence. The man with his glasses rushed in to confirm the fragment of the strange tableau he had beheld from outside. Even without his spectacles he would have known it. There was nothing but emptiness and an eery silence to welcome him aboard. Air condition and electricity contributed a whirring, humming white noise. The frantic commotion from outside was not invited in as calmly as Glasses and his few comrades had been. Any outside sound was met with the wall of silence that had surrounded the ship; errant noises were consumed by the humming of its innards. Time was stretching out unusually long for the men inside, seemingly reaching its arms out behind its head with a yawn and leaning back languorously while on the watch. Glasses and his astigmatic fellows blinked around with apprehension in the face of the nearly normal calm that they had walked into, filtering through the rows of seats. One ventured a hand to the latch of an overhead compartment. With a click and a hiss that shot through the air like an arrow, the lid swung up.
Carry-on bags awaited retrieval by their owners in a variety of manners. A businessman’s laptop centered itself professionally atop its companion briefcase on the far end of the compartment. An ukulele in its case leaned against a tattered backpack that slouched in the rear. A motherly purse tried to restrain twin lunchboxes, but as the hatch opened she lost her grip and the two tumbled out, gyrating prisms of green and pink. The spectators would have sworn the two boxes floated out and down to the ground in a zero gravity ballet dance. The clatter and pop as they hit the ground and burst sounded like cannons and gunfire in comparison.
Glasses bent slowly to the lunch spilled across the aisle, tension apparent in his eyes and bated breath. He fingered a bag of fruit snacks and jolted nearly halfway across the aisle before arresting himself when they gave out a crinkle. There was no humor in the high, breathy laugh they all gave out. It was as Glasses was collecting himself that he and the few others on the plane began to wonder belatedly, for the second time that evening, whether something was wrong or not. Nobody else had yet join them on board. Certainly someone should have rushed up the stairs and through the amenable aero-portcullis by now.
As they were shiftily wondering, making inquisitive glances and gestures to one another (no words, nobody wanted to break the silence), they began to notice too a dull undertone to the wash of static sound that surrounded them. It was the engines, they thought. The engines were picking up speed. Then with a jolt the plane began rolling again. Every man that had entered the plane lunged back to the door at the start of motion. For many this meant flinging themselves desperately over seat backs. Others barreled straight down the aisle, bouncing off of the edges of the padded airline seats like mad, yellow-vested, pin balls. The handful of men produced enough commotion for a party ten times their size. One man in the middle of the rush was flung into flailing tumble by an unassuming PB&J sandwich squatting on the floor. Nobody was stopping to help him up, instead they went leaping over him as he dazedly pieced himself back together. It wouldn’t have mattered of they had. The first to the door finally broke the bane of silence with an anguished yell. The door was closed, closed and refusing to open. What had been a gracious help to the inquisitors now faced them down with a dark and looming menace. A few stayed to throw themselves against it, terror taking command of their actions more and more. The rest flew to the cockpit. The door there was just the same, a sinister impasse.
Glasses yelled into the unknown of that little room. What’s going on? What are you doing? Is anybody in there? An odd moment of quiet returned, he and the others strained their ears, turning them to the door, listening for anything. Just beyond the shudders and clangs of the other men trying to free themselves in the background the listeners could pick up a light chatter and clicking. As they strove with mounting intensity to sense every slightest vibration in the airwaves coming out from under that door, they made it out to be the fiddling of the knobs and buttons and switches that were embedded in nearly every space of a commercial airline cockpit. The flipping of these switches and the cheery banter of a pilot. He was making small talk to his co pilot as he prepared the plane for takeoff. The co pilot was not making a peep though. At this point the men could have heard nearly anything. The engines outside were screaming in their ears, the thuds and cries from the door jarred their teeth, and this carefree chatter tickled the hair on the back of their necks. There was not one breath from any co pilot that was in that room.
There was then a greater cry from the group behind. One man rushed over and explained, becoming calmer as he spoke, the words flooding out at first but slowing finally to an absent trickle. It seemed the worst was to come. As the plane had begun turning to orient itself down the mile long track of runway, the men at the door had noticed two things. One, that they could see only one thing outside. Two, that thing was an incoming flight, apparently forced to land by an empty tank. The accelerating plane on the ground was working itself up into a frenzy to meet it head on. Everywhere the men were grabbing at any surface they could find purchase on as the plane’s change in inertia began pulling them back and to the ground. They were unrecognizable, Glasses had lost his glasses and now they were all identical stumbling mannequins. Soon they were plastered on walls or tumbling to the floor while the roaring outside filled the whole world. The plane leapt from the ground just as the other was completing its descent. From outside, two gleaming points sped toward each other. For a moment, time hiccuped as they met; scintillating motes swallowed the sky.
There was darkness. Light slowly seeped in, heralded by a stale whispering of air. I woke up from my nap with the air conditioning vent blowing in my face. I buckled my seat belt with a nervous click and tried settling back down to sleep. My efforts were futile. Needless to say, I failed to fall asleep on that flight again.
i HAVE FAILED MY TEST! HOW COULD THIS BE! What is fail anyway? I don’t understand, I DID the work! I just allowed myself…a forget, I don’t even know what I’m saying….see THAT right there Ms. V IS A FAIL! Who invented the word fail? Where does it come from? Man I have the stupidest questios ever, no joke! Man…fail, fail, faily-fail fail. xD Chad…yup good times… Okay I think it’s been like fourty seconds? I don’t know, maybe know forty five! :D I CAN COUNT! couting 1 2 3 5…fail! See real like falures are everywhere, in designs in stores in america (DEFINETLY) I think I spelled that wrong…FAIL!
I failed. Now, failure is something we all identify with, but the funny thing is that we usually pin it on ourselves. Why is that so? Why do we need to torture ourselves with the idea of regret? Of failure?
Failure is a concern a fear a concept, something to avoid, something that can’t be avoided. It happens to me, to you, to everyone, and anyone who’s ever succeeded has failed enough to know what not to do. Don’t fail me now, and if I do, will it matter to you?
O god to be honest this if probably a bad omen, however we all learn from this, and learning is the most important thing we do in life so I guess without failure this is no progress. Failing and success.
I can’t even count the number of times I’ve failed. I feel like I fail all the time. But I’m still here. So I guess I’ve succeeded more. Thats comforting.
I shouldn’t have drank that liquor, I shouldn’t have. I knew it was time to stop, but it drew me in, enticing me with its flamboyant irresistible nature. I was weak, and tired and I couldn’t, wouldn’t say no.
And I failed.
I shouldn’t have drank that liquor. If I hadn’t drank that liquor, if I had stopped when my head told me to this wouldn’t have happened. If I had just stopped, I would have noticed that two of my friends were missing.
I would have seen him take her aside and guide her through the narrow hallway into his den, into his layer. I would have seen her sway from side to side, drunkenness in her steps. If I weren’t so busy drowning the amber liquid I would have heard her pleadings and soft cries of ‘no’. I would have. I swear I would have.
I would have barged in there and stopped that motherfucker before he laid one finger on her. I would have castrated him, made him pray to all his saints for mercy. I would have made him wish he never even thought of taking advantage of her. I would have, I swear I would.
Before he laid her on the bed. Before he disposed of her last defenses and with one swift move, unceremoniously plunged deep inside her core, taking with him her innocence, her trust, her dignity…
But I failed.
Oh God, I would have stopped him I swear. If only I wouldn’t have drank that liquor.
I’ve failed you. You placed your trust in me. You thought you knew who I was, and I lied to you about the essence of who I am. But I still love you. I’m still me, and I am me no matter what, and I love you. I miss you terribly. But you have your new life and there’s nothing I can do. I wish I could stop lying, and I don’t know why I do it. I’ve not only failed you, I’ve failed myself. I often hate myself for my failures.
trepidation is only a safety net.
it lingers daily…
it asphyxiates every aspect of peace within my life
pulls me away.
but if every minute is planned
not another second will be filled with failure.
only the time it takes to create the plan
the anxiousness
the stress
is when i feel as if i’ve failed myself.
is pre-meditated failure more acceptable–
than accidental?
people can’t see what i do to myself,
leaving no room for judgement…
only room for constant dolor.
I was a failure at one point, always letting other determine my success. I failed at more than one thing a day. That was a the hard part, getting back up again. Who knew that so many people suffered from failing. Though failure is curable it’s hard to get over, or at leas that’s what they tell me.
he said he failed and everyone believed him. only because he said so. only because everyone sees him sitting in the corner, head down, tears falling into his sulking hands dangling from the arms that rest on his knees. he said he failed, so he looked like he failed. only the girl who sees him from the other side of the room knows that failure is not his case. No matter how much she loves him, she knows it’s not up to her to believe.
I’ve failed. Failed to accomplish the easiest task for many to perform. A task so simple, my little sister could do it for me. And she’s eleven. I’ve failed at showing my true feelings. I’ve failed at opening up, and just saying what was on my mind. I’ve failed myself, and I’ve failed you.
Last summer i failed my admission test
i was so sad because of my failure that I hadd to cry day and night
it was awful for mom and dad to see that because They love me like i lov emy cat hahah
i thinf failing is a chance to grow as a person to learn from your mistakes.
I failed at being a friend. I want to be a good friend to people and people sometimes open up to me. But then I become flakey and let them down. I miss those people a lot. I ruin my friendships and all I want is for them to be happy. Maybe I try too hard at first and then falter a bit. I work too much. I tend to be jealous and people hurt me. I just want a bestie that everyone else seems to have. Someone to hug and call when I am sad. But i’d let them down too.
down on the ground, down, beneath myself, i have fallen, failed, freed my soul of the superior actions expected of me. i have been saved, freed, become my own. a failure is admittance to humanity.
Failed. Like in 5th grade when i got my first F. or when i returned home from my internship because my mentor didn’t like my personality. Failed, like when I gave up on dating Mikey, or when I couldn’t handle being alone after him. Failure after failure.
It was a long walk back to the car. Smiles were nowhere to be seen on the faces that Billy passed in the parking lot. Looks of longing, longing that he would have made that catch.
Sadness. Tears, because you tried so hard and it wasn’t enough. Never enough. Failure at things makes you feel like you are a broken person. Who made you so wrong.
But then you laugh. Failure can be funny in its own ironic way.
Once again…. One last time. Just this once. Again. I fail to quit.
Fallar no es una decisión, si no la falta de ella.
Today I failed at getting things done. I also saw that someone wrote FAIL at the top of a building. I thought that was pretty awesome. Xavier thought that those people were crazy. I think I am probably going to post about it online.
When for the first time, i decided to stop moving on, because i was scared of failure, i actually failed horribly. The biggest lesson i learned was that I should always keep moving on, because i will be a losed anyways if i dont.
i failed to do it. i wanted to, but i’m nervous around him. i should have just pushed him against the bed and jumped him. he would have done it. he’s wanted to fuck me for years. but i’m also failing to stand up to him. because i want more than a hook-up. does he? fucking a. i dunno. i’m a failure.
I took the trip. Not for any particular reason. But it helped me get my mind off of things. It made me feel better about myself. It made me feel free of earthly constraints. But trips never last forever. And when I got home, all it took was one push to force me back into reality. Everything I had worked up in that small amount of time meant nothing. Sometimes, I don’t know why I try.
Do or do not, there is no try. Win or lose, there is no failure.
it is not my fault but I have failed. I keep sharing with people, hoping to feel validated. Just another form of gossip. No fresh visions tonight; tonight I lick my wounds and ignore the pressing words.
mundane v. spontaneity. i’m rooting for the underdog, ’cause i’m tired of failed days wasted on routine.