Posted in Poetry

Past, Present, Future.

When you already feel a million years old in your soul, it’s hard to want to grow old.

My chance to watch the world in wonder has already walked away from me.

Now, I look with grief stricken eyes.

The world is fight or flight, a heavy pit, a dark alley. It feels like eating your lunch in the bathroom stall because you would rather be alone than be subjected to being perceived as alone.

But sometimes I unclench my jaw and I can see the end. I see the light. I see the writing on the (bathroom) wall.

My past lives keep me chained to them, a desolate iron grip that bruises my wrists and plagues my soul.

But I am living this life now. I needn’t know the reason, because regardless, I create it myself.

I am here to watch myself grow old. I am here to watch myself set boundaries and heal my traumas and look people in the eye and write poetry about it all.

In fleeting moments, I am hopeful for the unknown. I transform every year, every month, every breath. My transformed selves wait for me to reach them.

I want to reach them all.

They beckon to me. They call my name and fill me with light. They say, “cast away your chains and fall into yourself.”

And at their mercy, I will.

One thought on “Past, Present, Future.

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