So many
trophies collecting dust.
Gold-colored
plastic so they don’t even rust.
Cheap
plywood and paint,
Yet somehow
so quaint
As they
remind me of achievements
And goals
chased in lust.
But what are
they now?
Just mementos
of how
I was better
than most.
Forgetting
the cost,
I put them
in a trash bag
Tied up with
a bow.
Each contest
I grew in,
Yet always
the shoo-in.
Oft won with
ease,
Now thrown out
as I please.
Just fragments
stored up
Against my
ruin.
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