Regret Is A Feeling

The only regrets I feel are for

The kindness I gave

That was chewed, spit, and ejected back at me–

Those things I wish

I had kept for myself, but then

I wouldn’t be so open, I wouldn’t be

So memorable. No one forgets who I am

When they meet me, for better or for worse I am

The sort of gaudy pamphlet

You leave in your coat pocket,

Keep seeing the front of

For a whole season and then

Throw out without reading.

I didn’t ask to be made

Into a pamphlet for asshats

I just keep getting mishandled

By the “wrong crowd”, I guess–

I struggle to know the importance

Of being seen, but not heard

It’s like my childhood keeps extending

Well into my middle age, now

And it often feels

As if some people get younger, not older

Try less and less to curb their vices, and

Embrace more parts of themselves

They perhaps would be better off hiding.


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