the old me

everybody wants
to go back in time,
relive some magic
part of their life, but
i’d wanna go back to
chat with somebody,
a guy i used to know
but now the image is
fuzzy, i wish i could
go talk to the old me,
before he gets tainted
by the anxiety, wish i
could give him some
advice no one ever
put out, teach him
right before stigma
starts coming about.

i’d like to tell him “yeah,
you’re different, but that’s
perfect on you, they’ll peak
in middle and high school,
don’t mind those fools,”
and i’d tell him not to use
an insult like “gay,” ‘cause
one day, he may say, he’d
take a boy on a date, and
i’d advise him who to steer
clear of and who to trust,
so no one tries to leave my
boy out in the dust, i’d tell
him “people may not care,
don’t fret, because i know
that you’ll end up the best.”

i’d save him from the mess,
tell him to think less, and i’d
foster him so he could feel a
sense of success, and maybe
then he might find that bit of
confidence, couldn’t grasp it
by myself but he would know
the rest, he might laugh at me
if i said he would write one day,
i’d tell him, “boy, trust me, i’ll
be right one day,” that bright
and carefree smile wouldn’t
escape from his face, i wish
i could see him in that state.

i miss the old me.