New Year's Wishes

Sitting in a dark room
glancing back and forth
between my Past and my Present
and already I am weary.
Then she says
"Let's write letters"
to ourselves
to each other
and I am stricken with panic,
but my silent terror is outvoted.

Maybe it is the lines being drawn
in Christmas snow
between Past and Present
that weighs against my nape
forcing my head down.
The shadows coming in from the corners of my eyes,
taking all clear sight.
But I acquiesce.

In words to myself,
hopes for a future me,
all I have is half a hope
that I'll survive another decade
intact.
And
I'm breaking down.
Breaking open.
They promised if I let this happen
all light would pour out.
But curled up here
in the Present's bed
it is all blackness
dripping from every opening.
Smudging the ink, ripping this page.
Three decades of darkness
that I have pushed aside,
hidden inside;
Three generations
of lethal misery.

I can not read this to you.

In a letter to you
I find some hope
and some shame.
This Present is no better for me than my Past.
But I want it more.
And I have it less.
And I am no good for either of you;
still not good enough for my Future.
And my hope for you is that you find the love that I can't give,
not to me, and not to you.

and now Present is Past
and these letters are sealed up
and left in a drawer that holds all the things
wished for and gone.