The Curse Of Capability Poem by Mike Smith

I have met perhaps a handful of people in my almost 26 years now who were equally or even more so capable than myself. I envy those people greatly because I strive for greatness. In the same regard I pity them all the same. Capability is a blessing and a curse.
The capable are the ones who others expect the most out of. And rightfully so. We are a rare breed. But we are an integral one. The Spartans of the earth if you will. Up to any task. Never unwilling to step up and perform the duty at hand.
It is an empowering feeling. To know one can accomplish most anything one sets his focus on.
It is a terrible burden. To know one must do whatever is asked of him at the drop of a pin. And to do it well. And to do it smiling. And to be grateful for the opportunity to perform such a task and complete it in due time with appropriate attention to detail.
If ever your back is against the wall. If ever you find yourself outnumbered. Over matched. Under skilled. Unprepared. Or even just in want (not even need) of a friendly voice, a helping hand, a listening ear, a watchful eye, an understanding character, or simply a good friend; I can play that role.
I am the round peg that fits in any hole. I am the chameleon that changes skin to suit itself. But for me, suiting myself entails assisting others to be suited in a way that brings them happiness and contentedness. I am so fiercely capable and independent, that my well being depends on the pursuit of pleasure of those that I care about the most.
I am a walking, breathing, working, bundle of enigma presented to all the world in whatever form I believe fit to please the masses.
I am selfless to the point of no return. I care little for myself. My priorities are not to look after me or to pursue my goals. They are, rather, to make the world a more comfortable place for my neighbors, friends, and family to reside in.
I am a care taker. A scout of the impending problems of those around me. A buffer between lack of satisfaction and the ones deserving of my help.
And the deserving which I speak of, they are many. Nearly all living things. Most every physical object possessing of some form of beauty or purpose. The deserving surround me in my every thought and move. They are the things that make this life worth fighting for. Worth struggling against and battling with. Worth embracing with my every fiber. Worth the work. Worth the effort.
Perhaps the world, the universe even, is in need of more individuals such as myself. Unfortunately, the rareness of our kind is all too apparent. We struggle to find lifelong companions due to our greatness. Due to our weakness. Due to our jaws of steel and our eggshell conscious. Due to our superpowers. Ultimately, due to our curse. Capable? Certainly. Happy? That's up to you reader...