Boiled over Wroth Broth

If my God-given gift was a thing
I'd sure be at the gates of heaven -
or so I thought - if it was a thing!
as I once again fell
through the clouds
for the last time.

Not this time, says the maleficent mind;
as "Mind over Matter" is its motto -
not that the mind feels emotion
like I always do!
But I'm falling...
Again a flop
as always.

Always the first to be dismissed;
the last to be misunderstood
yet again - misunderstood!
Understood by none but
I; Me; and Mine;

I don't blame you if you misunderstand
for I've done this all bloody before -
and after the first, all is forgotten!
But the blame should be on me
for and I to expect otherwise?

Though this dejection seems directed at you;
it is at my failures, regretless, firmly aimed.
For what is my worth with the absence
of misunderstanding, ridicule, and
failure?