The Version They Remember Isn’t Me
I miss the old me the old life the old times
The Version They Remember Isn’t Me
They remember me before the damage,
before loss rearranged my thinking,
before I learned how quickly love can leave,
without taking its belongings.
I nod when they speak about the past,
about how things used to be simpler,
as if simplicity was ever offered to me,
as if survival didn’t already cost everything.
There are questions I no longer answer honestly,
because truth makes people uncomfortable,
I am tired of translating pain
into something easier to digest.
I have learned how to edit myself mid sentence,
how to swallow the sharpest details,
how to present a version that feels safer,
even when it feels nothing like me.
What they miss is not who I am now,
who I was before I learned better ?
before grief taught me awareness,
well before reality removed the padding.
The version they remember is untouched,
unaware of what was coming,
and I don’t correct them,
because that person is already gone.
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
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