Literary Hype: Dreams of a Me that will never be

XXXI Days of Poetry - Day the Twenty-ninth

Dreams of a Me that will never be

Sifted through my life this morning,
discarding myself into glossy, black bags.
Pieces of Me that once-upon a time were.
Dreams of a Me that will never be.

When will I find a place that feels like home?
So many moves, so many dreaded rituals of
opening boxes never unpacked from the last time.

Or the time before.

It's just stuff, you tell yourself, and it is,
but it's your stuff. The things that meant
something to you. Or were going to.

I had plans. Those plans went in boxes,
and eventually, glossy, black plastic bags.
A life card-boarded up and plastic coated
became the dreams hermetically sealed
from the finality of a life not ever lived.

Look: there are the 3x5 note cards for all the
storyboarding of the movie scripts I was going
to write after the first one. Every couple years
inspiration hits, can't find the cards, buy more.
Now I have twenty-odd packs of cards and many
unfinished scenes sometimes sliding into my head.
Can't make much sense of them any more. The best
I can do is repeat that half-lament so often used
after a total disaster: seemed like a good idea at the time.

Feels apt.

Look: there is the voice recorder I wanted
for so long for a Internet radio show when
that was a thing and then, years later, a
podcast. Better late than never, my parents
would say, and it's true, but they've lived full
lives with kids and adventures, building things
in different lands. Watching their ideas grow.
Maybe I still will, I tell myself, finding a box to
put the recorder in for now. Is it still a goal of mine?

I don't even know.

The pieces of me are held together with the
starry-eyed dreams of an eighteen year old kid.
None of it has happened, but to abandon those
dreams would be to abandon that kid. Can I do
that? At this point, would I even know how?

I can still see him, sitting there, back when life
held so much promise, back when the future
was so bright and clear (back when sitting didn't
hurt). If I could warn him, would I? Would I seek
to tamper expectations, possibly end his dreams?

Now? I'm out of things to wish for, because
none of them are coming true. So I'm left
with my old choices, hopes and desires.
wearing them like the only clothes I own.

Dreams of a Me that will never be.