old selves.

I used the love so many things,

Without apology or reasoning.

I loved my brother’s pants,

And wearing my bathing suit all day long.

Dirt, glitter, high heels, and sticky hands.

Somewhere between wanting to be noticed and afraid to be seen, 

All of the things I loved,

Become embarrassing.

I hated loose clothing. 

I became afraid of water. 

I hated when my nails weren’t clean, 

And the way glitter clung to everything. 

I remember I had these grand ideas,

Thought out and detailed. 

Ones I used to know, 

But I’m not sure now. 

What a way to expand, 

Neglecting what makes you feel alive. 

Yet, I find myself exploring these old loves. 

Ones with the same eyes and new scars. 

Reminding me that our old selves,

Will always be ours.