A Letter To My Past

How do you like me as I am today? Twenty years young, triumphantly boasting Success through all you had been foreboding. Casting my vast nets as far as the sun While you cast your line in small empty streams, Passionately chasing visions and dreams While you bury your head in sand or run. Do you still see no hope for my future? See the wounds you thought I couldn't suture? In my past I was but a ball of clay. Shaped by your hands and your verbal roastings; Scarred by abuse and spiteful goading. I'm still not the one who mocks or makes fun. I still don't pick guys last for my sports teams, Because I know what hardship and hurt means; How it feels to wish tomorrow won’t come. Here I stand, the scar-ridden suitor In full war paint, looking back with humour.