Scrambled Eggs

You were supposed to be a god.
You were meant to be a hero.
You were planning to marry a gold digger
– not that you’d care.
It wouldn’t matter
because you could afford to look into the heart of the matter so powerful
so pure
so pulsing with potential applied
would you be.

You were gonna dance with stars
and not in some sort of ABC reality kinda way.
You were destined to be in the firmament
with celestial entities bright as you
fiery and tempestuous as you were
in potential.
What happened?
What became of all of those expectations?
Whatever happened to twenty two?

You were going to own San Francisco outright,
All of San Francisco
and a solid block
in Manhattan
and maybe some kind of land in the outer boroughs.
You weren’t picky.
You just wanted it all.

Those were the days, right?
When you wanted things?
When you had hopes for yourself
belief in your own sense of accomplishment.
You had faith you would conquer.
You lacked doubt.
You didn’t know better.
Those were the days.

Would that you could ever be so stupid again.
What would you give
for a moment of that?

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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