You Can't Have it All

You Can’t Have it All

By: Max Duckworth

But you can have books with ripped corners like an ancient scroll lost in time. You can have you brother stopping you from doing your work to tell you that the dog ate a raisin.

You can have the tiny hands of your hamster poking at you and his eyes that say, “You haven’t cleaned out my cage in months.”

You can have the bloody slashes on your arm after fighting through a thorn bush to grab a forgotten dollar bill. And the ice cream that you then waste it on.

You can have the last slice of cake from the back of the fridge, so innocent, so tempting.

You can have the massive intricacy of a master scheme that never shows itself, at the rightest of times. But comes when you need it least.

You can try to learn Spanish. You can fail at learning Spanish. You can visit the spot where you took your first breath even though the hospital is long since closed down. You can’t bring it back, but you can experience it through language.

You can be grateful for another three minutes of sleep. The way it relaxes you, the way it cradles you. You can be grateful for the death of your alarm clock, and its newly found silence, like a lamb asleep forever. And the return of the life it once sucked out of you.

You can have the nightmare, that wakes you in the night, breathless and confused.

You can have your dog lying at the bottom of your bed, for hours, waiting to steal your cereal. And the heavy silence of the weight.

You can’t always count on a friend to be there,
But you can spend time with your family,
As they teach you things,
And you learn from them,
Forever and ever and ever.

When reality fails you,
You can drift
Into a memory inspired fantasy,
Of peace and love,
Where you are surrounded by those who care
For you.

When facing hardships,
You can summon,
The advice that you will always follow,
Through thunder-storms and sunny days,
You can’t have it all,

But you can have this.