I kinda hate reading my old stuff
and by old I mean 2012/2013
since that’s really only when I began
poetry, at least
and I don’t mean this in an,
“Oh my old stuff sucked”
sort of way
I mean it in an,
“Oh God, this is so ironic and painful-
since I had such hope
and my past self would be so angry
with how things occurred
but mostly with how I gave in”
See, look,
“I want more than anything to do this and thrive. / All my eggs are in this one basket, and I can’t fail. / I can’t let them fall. / Everything I ever wanted is there, but I’m fraught with fear. / Because I’ll only have myself to depend on. / And I’m flighty and scary and an easily broken machine. / I’ve taught myself to prevail, but only at the fingertips of my beloveds.”
and now a Guinness truck
pulled up in front of the window I’ve perched at
and it says,
“Fortune Favors The Bold”
and it seems like God
is really set on making me feel guilty and dumb
for being so cowardly
and I’m in a constant conflict of,
“You Are Not To Blame; The World's A Vicious Place”
and my own fault and failure
and since I feel like I screwed up
in terms of just being all too weak
I’m blindly looking for redemption from some huge outer force
but it’s myself that’s pissed at myself
and forgiveness is not something I’m good at
especially not that incoming college freshmen self
who wrote those old poems that pain me to read
and by old I mean 2012/2013
since that’s really only when I began
poetry, at least
and I don’t mean this in an,
“Oh my old stuff sucked”
sort of way
I mean it in an,
“Oh God, this is so ironic and painful-
since I had such hope
and my past self would be so angry
with how things occurred
but mostly with how I gave in”
See, look,
“I want more than anything to do this and thrive. / All my eggs are in this one basket, and I can’t fail. / I can’t let them fall. / Everything I ever wanted is there, but I’m fraught with fear. / Because I’ll only have myself to depend on. / And I’m flighty and scary and an easily broken machine. / I’ve taught myself to prevail, but only at the fingertips of my beloveds.”
and now a Guinness truck
pulled up in front of the window I’ve perched at
and it says,
“Fortune Favors The Bold”
and it seems like God
is really set on making me feel guilty and dumb
for being so cowardly
and I’m in a constant conflict of,
“You Are Not To Blame; The World's A Vicious Place”
and my own fault and failure
and since I feel like I screwed up
in terms of just being all too weak
I’m blindly looking for redemption from some huge outer force
but it’s myself that’s pissed at myself
and forgiveness is not something I’m good at
especially not that incoming college freshmen self
who wrote those old poems that pain me to read
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