I love the person I've become/but I hate the person I had to be to get to her/ I wouldn't write the younger years out/for fear of who that would shape her to be today/that is you would find a completely different person/still bathing in lukewarm water/or lost at sea in a turbulent trapped mind/unaware/and yet I wish I could pick and choose/to remove those images, those words, the fighting/not all the bad/but the biggest of these./Who would she be?
Do you ever wish you prevent certain things from happening? Who would you be now? For better or worse?
Masterpiece of a passion painted, a lady mistress of her fairest dame; So gentle of heart, and a love all to wish acquainted; In the trends of oldest fashion,
Of her bright eyes of angelic fire, gliding, whereupon two stars are dancing; Man takes hand to a leading guide; His soul and eyes stolen— As amazement was what he found; For by God, you are His art piece created,
Yet so disturbing to my mind, as words to express have me so defeated; Worthy it is, speaking of you, tastes like treasure.
strange, feels strange, as if it was stored somewhere, as if, it was things that I can hold, but, I, lost it, the memories, thought I can hold it forever, yet, I lost it it walks away, followed you, leaving.
The water makes me forget, yet I remember the waves lapping on sand, except we haven’t had enough rain in years for the lake to reach the shore, this is my favorite place but it feels just as tired as I do, living up to expectations of the past barely meeting requirements of placehood. I’ve lost the special that once consumed me dilapidated buildings and broken promises link the memories between place and person deterioration reminding me that I am not the only thing searching for peace and finding loss in its place.