Insecurity and Hindsight

In another life,                                 I would like to think that I was the perfect version of myself.

I would like to think that my hair fell in long tresses like roses on a trellis.

I would also like to think that it smelled like roses on a trellis.

In another life, I would have hoped not of such selfish things as perfection.

In some other dimension, I can see myself sitting on the edge of a freeway overpass.

I count the lights that fly between my feet much like roaring bugs in summer.

I keep a tally of how many remind me of cliche movies.

In some other dimension, on the edge of a freeway overpass, I wouldn't think about falling.

If I wasn't myself, I know I could be everything that I've ever wanted to be.

I'd be a successful writer. I'd know to bake oatmeal cookies from scratch.

I wouldn't waste time worrying over the inevitable and the indescribable.

If I wasn't myself, I know I'd be more of myself than I have ever been in my life.

      In another life.