Untitled

As I read Anaïs Nin,
I think of all the things denied me.
Oh sure, I'm grateful for what I have--
Good health and financial stability--
But beyond those basics, I miss the stuff of
Soul-affirming satisfaction.
Of course of course it is my fault--
My obtuseness, my reluctance,
My hesitations and sluggish reactions
Cadavered me at an early age.
I've been a corpse since babyhood,
Granted human senses if only to see
My egregious errors, smell my decay,
And feel remorse.
Now, I fear, it is too late;
Too weak to catch up to those youthful sprinters,
I lack the spryness to leap the hurdles,
The stamina to go the distance,
The will to stay the course.
In all capacities, my wishes have been
Declined, invalidated,
Disassembled, discredited.
The only forte I can claim
Is my unity, a dense solidarity,
The hard-shelled pit of my being
That deflects every blow.

Reviews

[Kell-Bell]

I love what you wrote here. Personally, I can imagine a movie villain sitting on a throne and ranting about their missing youth and mistakes, while on a quest to regain said youth. If a movie is ever made like this, I hope they would use your poem specifically to relay what the antagonist wants and how they feel about the lived.