There was not a single time when I was wrong,
only those moments where I was told as much,
so it became fact.
When they would crush my confidence so small
it could be squeezed
into a miniature Vodka bottle.
At night I would suck down that harsh liquid,
so they could compress dreams afresh tomorrow;
distilled once again into that tiny space.
Over the years the nights became longer,
that vessel became larger,
and I grew accustomed to the taste.