"oldself" poems
I had this notion of wanting
to be more like oldself–
not more like myself, because myself
has become too sad and too hurt;
I remember oldself being so much more.
But where does one look for one's oldself?
It's not like I just hanged it out to dry
or hung it up on the wall next to a poster.
No, oldself has been scattered and beaten,
tossed along the path of nostalgia.
Bits of oldself linger among
sketchpads and sneakers, SEGA
and Lego sets and Star Wars.
It's back there with s'mores and scouts
and bonfires and books and
the belief that the big, blue world
was a place where dreams came true.
Oldself thinks that optimism
is the only option, myself makes a
note to self: that matter mostly
isn't true, as a matter of fact.
I can't always see oldself, it's buried
beneath six feet of dirt, gossip and rumors;
there's tons of stress and anxiety weighing
on its chest, dressed in a halcyon suit.
Oldself never used to worry
like myself does so often nowadays
but he also couldn't sing like myself can.
He had a wilder imagination than
myself could ever conceptualize,
yet I've exceeded so many of the dreams
that oldself had for my future self.
I often think to myself: what would
Oldself think if Oldself met myself?
And although I may not have turned out
exactly how Oldself envisioned myself,
I've grown and learned from Oldself
and now I'm proud of myself– a place
that my old self never thought I would be.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
Loving you means taking the risks
But here's my oldself which I can't fix
Too many doubts and questions
Thinking that I'm just an option
This is the language of love
Teaching me how to be brave
To face all the consequences
And here am I who lost her sense
I am afraid of staying
Thinking that you'll be leaving
And will left me hanging
I say to you, I am afraid of loving
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 3:39 AM UTC