Purpose.

The name alone sounds heavy.

It makes my heart pound,

weighing heavier than an elephant.

I have dropped it so many times

because it was too heavy to carry.

I could not bear it.

And yet,

I hate the feeling of failing.

But each time I pick it up,

I pant before taking a step.

My brain screams danger.

My body shrinks and folds

at the mere sight of it.

This is punishment.

I don’t want it.

Take it away from me.

If this is what purpose is, then dig my grave and bury me in it

rather than live without aim.

O Great One,

please call me home.

For my shoulders are tired.

Wait.

What is this?

Is this purpose?

Why do I feel so happy?

Dopamine bursts through my veins.

I cannot control them.

My vocals finally have a breath of their own,

wearing themselves out with screams.

Excitement is an understatement.

If joy were tangible,

then it would reside in my veins.

I want to commit my life

to what my tongue has tasted.

If this is not purpose,

I don’t know what is.

Butterflies in my tummy,

I know this butterfly will settle.

But the eagle

will continue to soar high in the sky.

I know dreadful valleys are ahead.

I know hills will rise before me.

But I will drag myself through them.

I know critiques will come,

but my shoulders will bear them.

I know thorns exist along the way,

but I will give my body to them

and let them pierce every inch of me.

This will be my song: 

I have seen purpose.

I have tasted it.

And now,

I’ll die for it.

My vocals may wear out

singing this song,

but my heart

will bear it on its table.

✍️Gift Olabode