content warning: just comparisons to my past self.

Do you mourn me?
Child-that-was, person
of could-have should-have,
possibilities dying in the light
of summer sun.

I could go back,
and trace my own face,
hold tight to each flaw
and rounded feature.

I couldn’t go back;
I can’t be “her” again,
time caressed the memory
of who I once was.

Do you mourn me?
We are still the same:
“she” and “they”,
younger and older,
I find peace in knowing
I was never lost.

Do not mourn me;
I am still here,
standing before you.
Like earth from a river,
I was carved;
but with sculptor’s hands,
I carved myself.