Looking Back

I read the words that I once wrote

The way I used to think

A snapshot of a younger me

Immortalized in ink


It’s so long since I wrote it

Yellowed paper, faded lines

The handwriting is different

But the words I know are mine


And for a moment I travel back

I am that boy again

Cut deep beneath the surface

Soul bleeding through my pen


I’m desperate to help him

Let him know he has a friend

Show him that he’s not alone

That life is worth it in the end


I feel the anger and the anguish

The upset and the rage

I feel the overwhelming fear

That traps me like a cage


I try to bend the bars

Or find a way to break the lock

But this boy doesn’t have the strength

In his body or his heart


And like that I’m transported back

To the man that I am now

Yellowed paper in my hand

Faded words from years ago


There’s nothing I can do

To take away that young boy’s pain

So I’ll make sure the misery

Was not borne in vein


I’ll never get the chance to help him

I’ll never get to be his friend

But I mean it when I promise him

Life’s always worth it in the end


Written after being inspired by Sara In LalaLand’s post, Poetry from the past #2; a retrospective look at some of my poetry from my teenage years (10-15 years ago).


    1. Indeed. Instead all we can do is keep a piece of who we used to be inside us, and talk to that. It may not bring peace to our old selves, but it can at least put our minds now at some ease.


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