Self

Wrong stop.

It didn't have to be inevitable;

we're both to blame for this mess,

but it's a hard pill to swallow

when you realize that

you left your soul on a playground

and forgot how to sing

or what you really look like

underneath the grime and dinge,

how the last time you felt yourself

was when your swing wasn't in a dumpster

and your house wasn't charred

and all the flowers still bloomed

in your old backyard

and you knew who you were

what you wanted

even where you needed to go

yet somehow you forgot that

and you didn't know 

what your name meant anymore

but things don't have to stay forgotten

not all memories are put to rest

and the real me, or you, was still

beating in my chest

waiting for the day you'd search

for her again

and for your name to light up

a room like only you can.