I wasn't light on my feet.
I couldn't pick up a beat.
That wasn't good enough for you.
That I couldn't do what you do.

You act like everything is fine.
But it isn't fine most of the time.
She's gone and you keep facade,
Yet all I see you as is a fraud.

My life is a mountain, hard to climb.
It straight and steep just like a line.
My muscles are burning, my fingers start to bleed.
The emotions keep growing, just like a weed.

Rocks are coming down, I'm starting to slip.
Wounds are being teared, they're starting to rip.
Keep going, stop thinking, just get up there.
But then a man was sitting on that mountain, with a calm gentle stare.

"Why do you climb the mountain?" He asked with a wise look.
I almost didn't know, I felt like I was blindly moving straight like a rook.
Grief takes many forms, were the cryptic words he told me.
But he helped me open my eyes, and helped them see truly.

I'm no longer a rook, guarded with direct moves.
I'm a Queen now, I can move wherever I choose.
My life is a mountain, a challenge to conquer.
But there's people climbing with me, one quiet, one angry, and one that's quite the talker.

Author note
I just realized this poems and the last poem were both about Cole. Whoops. Oh well.

Inspired from my short story Meeting Wu.