A Third of What I Was Meant to Be
I’m painting myself out of this picture.
Where the closed door once was,
now lays a highway stretching
further than where the eye can see.
Where my outline once was,
is now an unknown shape,
pushing past its limits.
I’m not who you remember
nor am I who you think am
or who you think I should be.
There are multitudes within me,
waiting to explode outwards.
Don’t expect to look at a picture from my past
and recognize the woman in front of you.
I want to be so unrecognizable in a year
that my name feels different on your tongue.
I flourish within the idea
that the me I am today
and the me I will be tomorrow
and the me I will be a year from now
will be untouched by you.
You were only a stepping stone to the real path,
and I was only a third of what I was meant to be.