When the girls look like summer, I become
Nostalgic for a time that never was.
Summer was not something to enjoy, but
Something from which to hide.

In the shadows of trees or buildings, I sat
Or stood in discomfort, wishing I could be
Part of the world that belonged to
Everyone else.

In the sanctuary of indoors, I stayed up late
Into the morning and wrote woeful dirges
About a life that I refused to change;
My days began in mid afternoon, the Sun
At its most oppressive, half the day gone,
The decline already setting in.

The daylight was saved specially for me
To see from the wrong end.

*
This all feels worryingly familiar: as though
A regression into awkward adolescence
Has begun, and I am not prepared
To stop it. Have I forgotten how very
Sad I was back then, or do I merely
Believe that is all I deserve?

Good intentions give way to procrastination,
My mind awakening as my body tires.
I need sleep, but all I get is words.
I need to be better, but all I get is worse.

*
I always knew it was a misnomer:
This most perishable of commodities
Can only be enjoyed, or lost forever.
Somehow, I remember that loss,
That self denial, with fondness,
As though that was the best I ever had.

It was mine to squander, which
My skewed adolescent brain believes
Means I was fine to squander it.
That is not what I need, so I hope
It is not what I want.

07/07/2015

Posted on 08/06/2015
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