It’s Regrettable

In my younger years I dreamt of growing into a desirable person
when my peers would make snide remarks on my smile, my skin
My style, my silhouette
I would soothe my wounded spirit by assuring myself that they would regret their actions when I finally evolved
I would one day give them reason to seek repentance
And give myself a reason to finally love who I am
As the years has raced to their ends
I find that I have not yet reached the idea self that I dreamt of as comfort
I have grown as we all naturally do
Out of many things
Old clothes, old crushes, old habits
But never into the things I desired
I consider all the years I have spent
Awaiting my time, my turn
To see that I have arrived at neither
And I may never arrive
I may not be afforded the chance to give reason to regret
But I now see that the greatest of regrets is my own
I have bided my time seeking the day in which I would have cause to love myself
When I would finally give myself something to love
I have exhausted efforts to transform
At a loss of my energy and esteem
I have settled into being a moth with butterfly ambitions
Birth from the cocoon to be greeted by my own petty disappointments
I have been waiting for the chance to be liked by many
But most importantly to by loved by myself
How odd that I am still waiting


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