Dreams Of My Younger Self

In my dreams, I see my younger self,

she's so uncertain, so afraid.

She asks "Does it get better?"

I want to lie,

I want to say yes,

it gets better, you grow beautiful and vibrant. 

Your dreams come true.

Instead, I say no,

I was never good at lying to myself.

You grow old and weary and tired.

You get scars that ache on rainy days.

You live even when it feels like dying

But some days you trace those scars and it feels like victory.

You live and it hurts.

She does not say anything,

this girl who grew up far too fast and far too slow.

Who hates her self-pity.

Who sometimes can't stand the sight of herself.

Who will always try to be a diamond, 

when she is only black coal.

I want to whisper an apology.

Want to give words of comfort no one else will ever give.

But she understands, she's only ever had herself.

Only ever had her own reflection whisper words of courage.

Picked herself up even when the death felt like a mothers embrace.

She does not cry, she knows better.

She smiles, bloody and bitter.

When I wake I will have forgotten her.

Forgotten this conversation, forgotten these words.

But I'll pass by a mirror

and always remember that smile.

Pull up my lips in its imitation

and remember it's bitter taste.