On This Day II

this time
last year, I sat crying
in a prison of my own making,
unable to see that the door
was already open
and it had been
all along. this time
last year, I was too busy
chasing after someone
who didn’t want me
to see that there were,
in fact, other fish in the sea,
and that one in particular
was giving me
the eye. this time last
year, I was a fool. a sad,
silly, oblivious fool; a bud
curled so tightly
into my misery that
I didn’t know it was
time to open.

now I can look back
on that girl and be glad
that she finally took
that first little step
towards something
better.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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