last week i had the weird experience of being confronted by my past self (in the form of a poem being published) as a present self who was not prepared to accept what this past self knew. to simplify: i wrote a poem sometime in mid 2019 that began as an exercise in playing with astrology. at the time i was in a relationship; i’d moved across the country to his hometown; we got a dog; etc etc. last summer my world (as i imagined it) shattered. the poem was published on tuesday. i received emails and messages from friends and strangers about how it resonated with them. i can’t help but hate that i wrote it. that i wrote it from what i thought was a place of security. that i was flippant in the writing of it because i imagined i was above or had surpassed the characteristics of the self laid out in the poem: loneliness, guilt, doubt. little did i know. little do we know even about ourselves.
that poem lives here. and now some dreams:
Thank you for sharing!