Sometimes the past becomes so heavy
it catches up with me.
And they tell me don’t worry,
because your past isn’t who you are.
But is it really not?
It’s like a wave, a tsunami-
and it strikes with vengeance.
And rage, but sadness
all at the same time.
Oh, and I can run.
As fast as my feet may let me.
But it’s too late.
For once I realize,
I’m already running,
underwater,
drowning.
And the pain of floating memories, strikes.
Once, twice…
How can you tell me
this isn’t who I am?
When this version is now,
all I’m able to see.
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