babbles

Past-selves & getting to know you.

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I think a lot of us look back on our past-selves and think, “who was that person?”
We go through transitions constantly. We change our minds, we change ourselves, and we change our surroundings. Sometimes, as we change, we get to know ourselves more – and sometimes, we get to know ourselves less. Unfamiliar territories can open up a big can of “who the hell am I,” and “why am I doing this?”

Questioning yourself is the most important part of getting to know you. Lately, I’ve been feeling unfamiliar to myself. I spend so much time cooing patients at work and focusing on other people, by the time I sit down and look in the mirror, I’m thinking –

“who dat.”
Continue reading “Past-selves & getting to know you.”

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pomes

to my past self;

To the sixteen-year-old on the couch:

Allow me to introduce you to yourself;
You’re twenty-two and finished college,
Months away from moving out, and
Everybody’s proud of you, and
You have gotten help.
The boy who yelled & threw your phone
Is sad and ugly and alone,
And you are everything you never knew
You wanted.
You will meet boys
Who will take buses and trains, cross seas in planes
To see you;
And you will hate them all.
Though you are much stronger now,
You’re still learning how to crawl;

And that is the most important thing.

Nothing really matters now
From when you were sixteen;
You’ll wake up on Sunday mornings
From vivid, lucid dreams;
Those thoughts might still scare you,
But you are tough.
You are smart.
And yes, you have a heart –
It’s in there, I swear,
Though the fire has flickered out,

Just know that things are looking up.

s.f. (2016)

pomes

On adulthood;

I think we’re all just children
in big-kid shoes,
holding cigarettes and bottles of booze,
all just fumbling around like drunken lovers –
groping around at whatever hand reaches back to us.
I think we’re all just
children in button-ups and ties,
high-heels and bedroom eyes –
What are bedroom eyes?
Do any of us know
what we’re doing here,
are we all just dying painfully slow, or
is there something I’m missing?
Have I done something wrong?
When they passed out the manuals in high school,
Was I sick at home?

I’ve never felt so incompetent,

so feeble and raw,

like how a baby teethes on her chewed up thumb;
we cause pain to relieve it.
We become addicted.
And it’s all downhill from there.
We’re in slacks and ties and we’re crying,
Crazy in our bedrooms,
Crying bullets from our eyes –

Because you are never an adult;
Just a sad, grown-up child.

-s.f.