A Sense of Self

I miss the sky

I shouldn't be so selfish

but I am. Knowing

failure is the end result

I still want to be in love again.

While I don't desire the drama

I am wistful for the hope of youth

(and my 20-year-old thighs

which I'm not supposed to admit

because it means I'm shallow).

I'm not going to chase the past.

There is no beauty in artifice,

no joy in the knife

and poison is only for enemies

(a terrible gift to give myself).

But I can say, since I

know that I won't go back

and know why I can't

I'll never miss the time I've spent

in funding new creations.

There is only one thing

beyond a tired redemption

and a useless wish

for the backwards march

of mistakes.

I wish I could eradicate

labyrinthine terrors

that blend day into night

and have destroyed the only person

I always wanted to be.