words

Summer morning and I forget it's only April.
I walk to class automatically,
Almost expecting to see Carly.
Perfect weather soon yields to sticky lethargy,
But in the meantime...

Seasons echo the cycles of my own life.
I'm not the girl I was last spring:
Naive, idealistic, wanting, needing.
I'm not the woman I was last summer:
Needing, desperate, clinging, betrayed.
I'm not even the person I was three weeks ago...

Regrets?
Not really...
I feel so much more genuinely me,
That perhaps it was worth the pain.
I've learned so much more in the last twelve months
Than in the twenty years before them.

I know I can't keep living like this.
It's not, well, sustainable,
To use our favorite catchphrase.
Already there have been calls far too close.

Yet I don't know what else there is.

Before this door of my personality was opened,
Flirty, sexy, confident, fun,
I...I could feel the void?

I don't want to close the door and reclaim that boring-ness...



(NB: I think this is prose, just spaced out to more clearly show my thought process. It's been the English Symposium this week and I've had to go to readings and stuff...I wish I could do creative writing, but I just don't think I have the discipline...)


on a cloudy day it's more common than you think
he's my first mistake