Museum Of An Old Life

I found an old journal of a girl I used to know,

her heart was broken again and again waiting till the day she could find her light.

Isn't she me?

She's who I used to be,

now she's looking through a prism to see herself all changed,

the one who she always wanted to be.

I have her journal, the tear stained and beginnings of poems that never finished

ones she never knew would ever be finished by me.

I put it on display for all to see,

the old life I used to live and what I can now be.

I found an old journal of a girl I used to know,

she was me,

and now I look at her through a glass frame

as a reminder of the old life I lived.