They like to lament.
About the person I used to be.
As though them ignoring me.
Leaving me in the wilderness.
Means I have a defined self.

And,
It's always my fault

How dare I change from the ossified.
Memory they have of me.
How dare I grow my own way.
And, they cry to the heavens.
At the death of my optimistic youth.

But they were never there.

When I needed them.

They define me.
As someone I wasn't.
And mourn the loss.
Of the fantasy.