Forget About the "What Ifs".

When I was twelve and had a pocket knife,

And I let Alex try to whittle like I did.

But I, having so many more years to my life,

Should have known better then to give cuts to a kid.

 

And when I let Suzanne on the bus ridicule me,

I let her make me evaluate my self-esteem.

Yet at the age of nine, I failed to see,

That her opinion didn’t mean anything.

 

For eighteen years, I isolated myself from family.

I embraced me, a self-proclaimed introvert.

Only to see in later argument ramblings,

That my seclusion was a main source of her hurt.

 

I trusted Caitlin with my secrets of dark,

Though my judgment at the time was poor.

Her rapid betrayal left its searing mark,

On my heart that trusts no more.

 

Had I know I was their trophy piece,

I might have pulled away quicker.

But once my grandparents criticized me, my visits did cease.

I knew you were twisted, Pop, but your mind became sicker.

 

I rewind my mind and request the unknown,

The “what ifs” of my life do pester.

How would they change the way I’ve grown?

These scenarios in my head often fester.

 

I ask these inquiries to my wall;

I gladly converse with my shadow.

Yet the answers given make my skin crawl,

Some alternates are best not to know.