If life was an English class
I’d enroll again for high school,
concentrate on the editing,
hope to gain something
the second time through
I’d excel at the assignments –
experience adds so much maturity
to the written word – and teachers
would deliberate and decide
that I don’t belong, and where
would that leave me?
Both the rigidity of self-judgment
and my softer, creative side
lecture me on the futility
of repeating past success or failure,
but; what else is there in life
to desire; what options lie ahead
for this diseased self: imposed
rest feeds my reflective side,
my mind regresses unwittingly.
I could study psychology, finish
a program once started, then
abandoned (a pattern I loathe),
but what merit lies there –
another backwards movement.
And what is this damnable urge
to perfect what has been, rewrite
the past, excel in the literature
of my own story? I am destined
play a secondary role, foibles
contributing to the charm of
my character – maybe I should
enroll in a course on acceptance
learn to embrace the folly of
my youth, point myself forward.
(Image: www.bbc.co.uk)
One Woman's Quest 