Years ago i wrote a poem
With words of limitless potential,
Youth, Optimism, Anxiety, Stength
I look at them now, empty and hollow
Knowing somewhere along the way
The centre of who i was left
Leaving only a shell to change
And I Became the mother
The partner
The builder
The grower
Became the one who payed bills
Passed qualifications
Got jobs
I Became over and over,
Stepped forwards into role after role
Person after Person
Thing after thing
Until I was a cumulation of shells of potential dreams
And Each new shell a footprint in my life
Not of what I would become
But of who I Had become
by choice
Now the emptiness grows, no matter how much i change
And i realise that i am Screaming inside, pain and seething rage
That looking up from my path i see,
none of the footprints lead where
i thought
To see that in the mirror is an empty shell,
Dreams closed off by the steps I
had wrought
I hadnt just gone in circles
I had walked in erratic lines,
then leaps
All leading one way or another
Away
from who i had wanted to be
And now i sit still, silent, empty
Dreaming of who i couldve been,
Who i Wanted to be
Somehow i missed the turnings, though now i understand
How someone becomes so preoccupied with 'who will i be'
That they forget 'Who i am'
So years ago i wrote a poem
Now i'm writing one again
Thinking of that child's dream, i know
"Lost" is who i am