I wrote this poem at a time in my life where I felt a decided lack of control over the situation and everything seemed to be going wrong, but now I hope that I have more in common with the person of the second stanza than of the last.
Jealous of a past self,
One who knew no fear or cowardice.
Free to express oneself,
No hint of pain or sorrow.
A flower growing—just a bud,
But so full of promise.
Jealous of a future self,
Strong enough to conquer anything,
Forged in the flames of a hellish life,
Burning with the desire for change and justice.
A flower blooming in all its glory,
Its face open for all the world to see.
This current self is just a doll,
Lifeless, emotionless, manipulated by others.
Death of a soul that wanted to live,
Crushed by the burden of memory.
A flower frozen before it could bloom,
A self in stasis, not yet ready for the journey.