I miss pre-pandemic me
I used to be efficient, a self-starter, a machine
now I cover the bags under my eyes with a concealer two shades lighter than I used to be
I used to plow ahead, eyes forward, carefree
now I reflect, write about the past, grieve
I wish I had lost my craving for success, my ache for prestige
but I still force myself to be the center—where Copernicus thought the sun might be
I love the attention, but I hate being perceived.
I was a flower in full bloom
suddenly deprived of purpose, fresh air, sunlight
I wilted in isolation, shed leaves in my childhood bedroom
and begged my dehydrated limbs to carry me through two years, eight seasons
I’m better now—a little less sad, a bit more anxious
my petals have a hopeful hue
I pray to God this winter isn’t my prime
he says nothing in nature is always in bloom
