i find myself wishing i could write
like i used to
write hard hitting poems that leave aches in your bones

i can't
i'm happy. i'm somewhere else, and i'm happy.
i look at old writings and i do not see me
i see a girl who was struggling to live and to breathe

six months ago, i'd take it all back
i'd gather up my poems and i'd stuff them in the trash
six months ago, i'd want to forget
but now all i see is development

i do not recognize that version of myself
but now,
i know it is for the best
i know that without our past selves,
we'd be nowhere near our present

and i quite like her
i like her strength the best
i like that even when it's not needed
i know it's served her well