the woe of the winning heart

I win a race. I achieve something great.

Yet the girls in the playground

mock me til I cry and I deflate.

What’s wrong with putting my all

into a sprint I really meant? Yet I bow and say

I’m sorry to the losers who cajole.

Can’t we all be equal partners in the race

of life and love? Or is losing just so shameful

that to want to win is a self-centred disgrace?