Poem in Progress
There are old journals on my bookshelf
blank pages at the back
filled with unfinished poetry
similes with no synonyms
metaphors with no meaning
prose left on pause
But the girl who scribbled these words in ink is gone
changed by experiences yet to be written
Words lamenting past lovers that scorned her
trying to heal fresh pain through pen and paper
Now those feelings are a distant memory
only existing as echoes in my identity
And the ghosts of my past try to haunt me in these pages
but their barbed wire smiles don’t scare me like they used to
The wounds have scarred over
the girl has grown
and this work will never be finished
Forever a poem in progress
as they all once were
and all will be.
