For today’s prompt, write an unlucky poem. Today is Friday the 13th, and I think it’s the perfect opportunity to wax poetic about anything and everything unlucky.
The whole concept of "luck" is an iffy one for me. I am not sure how I define that word, how I contrast it with Fate, and if I even believe there is such a thing as luck. And yet, and yet--there are those things that happen....so, anyhoo, here's my attempt to talk about "being unlucky".
Luck, Is It?
Why do I feel
As if I am never
The one who could
Call herself "lucky"?
So much in my life
Is wonderful, so
Why do I disdain
To call it all "luck"?
Nothing happens to me,
In my opinion,
That is "luck",
As I define it.
I work damn hard
For each and every
Thing I want to
Achieve in my life.
I don't take chances
Nor do I expect
The Universe to
Simply shit gold on me.
I don't have "luck"
When it comes to my life.
I plan it. I work it.
And sometimes, I miss it.
Sometimes, I don't win.
No lottery. No legacy.
But if I want it badly,
I'll work till it happens.
So, I am not "lucky".
I am "unlucky".
But, I don't care.
Because--I am happy.
© Aisling the Bard, 2011. All Rights Reserved
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