I never thought it would come to this,
You there—me stuck here.
I cannot even move—frozen—
What can I even really begin to say?
It isn’t supposed to be like this.
This isn’t truly who I am—
Who I am supposed to be
As I watch you—no, stare at you—
With a lasting longing only felt
By ghosts who linger in loss,
Or by those for whom
Loss is the lingering.
I trace your soul with sliced eyes,
Those onion-lines obscuring my view.
I remember you just as you were...
as you are.
Loving, caring, compassionate—
Genuine, giving, gracious—
You really were...
Are those things...
No more.
Not permanently erased,
But phantom muscle memories of
Holographic images—
Likenesses that remind me
Of those times—that era—
When I was open to the whole world
Even as that world weaponized
My own heart against
Me.
I never thought I’d be here,
Staring at you in the mirror
As if you were in a hospital bed
And I, a looking-glass governor
Seeing the innocence dying
Like embers in the morning light,
I pause—weep—
For I must now let you go, my love.
The time has come for you
To fly away
This night.
Even as fright comes in death,
And I never got to love you
The way I should have—
The way I cursed you,
Hated you for what others did,
Berated you for being bullied,
Belittled you for being punished,
Guilted you as if you were gutless,
Flagellatd you with ferocity
For fear
Others were right,
That you were wicked,
Worth being whipped like cream,
Isolated in a frost-bitten dream,
Left to scream into the deaf void.
I never said I loved you
Because I never believed
I was worth love
And, now that I know I am,
I can only learn to love
The me I have become—
Not run away back into my own
Self-hate.
I hope it is not too late to try;
I am scarred, I miss you—
I really don’t want you to die.
But I must go, leave, be gone.
Keep my love,
You should have had it all along.
To you,
Former me,
Rest in peace,
I pray you are finally free.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, January 24, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: January 24th, 2026 08:14
- Comment from author about the poem: I’m published in an anthology featuring authors from across the Poconos, PA. All proceeds benefit the Pocono Liars Club — a collective of authors and editors dedicated to supporting and mentoring local writers. Available in paperback and Kindle, please consider purchasing one and supporting a great cause. https://a.co/d/58uxM69
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 47
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Teddy.15, Mutley Ravishes, arqios, Paul Bell, NafisaSB
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Comments10
Wow.What a compelling piece! Your poem transported me to the room where you lay in bed; your performance was captivating. Kudos to your remarkable writing skills. The poem explores the complex relationship between the poet and their former self, highlighting themes of self-acceptance, loss, and the struggle to relinquish past identities. It conveys a sense of mourning for the self that once was, while also suggesting hope for healing and transformation. Yet the Poet's introspection regarding their past identity, the emotional turmoil experienced due to self-hatred, and the realization that to move forward, they must confront and release their former self. The poem captures the pain of loss, both of self-love and the innocence of youth.
Dearest friend, I appreciate the care you took with this. You stayed with the grief, the self confrontation, and the slow release...and named it well. That kind of reading matters to me a lot, let alone the astute analysis you always provide. Much appreciated, my friend 🕯️🪞🖤🙏
Don't scare me like that my old heart can't take it. This poem seems a recognition of the death of an old self and the birth of a new one that now bids farewell to the old ( grieving? mourns? but bids adieu at any rate) this in one sense is a common phenomena of growth in all of us. Onion eyes, each layer a layer of growth, Knowledge comes with pain that innocence that was once bliss has turned to an adult view of tragedy and how one might weep and wish to return to childhood and its simple joys and fantasies but the genie it is out of the bottle, Pandora's box has been opened and these things can not be returned to how they were. Well done Tristan
My friend, I appreciate the way you held humor, grief, and inevitability together here. The sense of growth as both gift and wound came through clearly, and you stayed with the farewell. I truly appreciate your read and feedback, my friend. Sorry for the scare. 😏 🕯️🪞🖤🙏
Good write T. Meanwhile, in Cuckoo Land, there's never any peace when 'they' are around. We knows 'em! lol.
Cuckoo land, indeed! LOL! Thanks Orchi! Swoon!
Agh! They torment us morning, noon, and night! lol.
For real. It never ends. The glugging, God, the glugging! hehehe!
When one can recognise changes within themselves that a complete power over soul.. kudos, I did read the first lines of sorrenbarret's review which made me chuckle. Way to go Tristan taking back the power. 🌹
Dearest Teddy, I’m grateful for how you framed this. Recognition, reclaiming power, and a touch of shared laughter all held together. I really appreciate you, my friend. 🕯️🪞🖤🙏
This is one to identify with, Tristan. The changes in me are difficult to map, however I know that I would not be who I am now (And I am happy, content with me now) without all of those previous younger selves. I’m not about to reveal them, however. Suffice to hint that there are a number of yours which seem familiar!.
Thank you Dave. Sufficient indeed! Good to not be alone, my friend. Much appreciated! 🕯️🪞🖤🙏
You made it through, Tristan!
Mutley, that simple affirmation hits hard. Sometimes that’s all that needs saying…and it lands. Thank you. 🕯️🪞🖤🙏
You`re welcome!
A mirror reflection where left is right and right is left, uniquely your own story and yet projecting mine. Haunting. There was that version of self that had to be let go in order to take part in today and hopefully tomorrow. R.I.P. 🙏🏻🕊️
arqios, your reading honored both the personal and the shared. Even as our experiences and circumstances are unique, we share in much. That commonality makes me feel less alone, and I’m truly thankful our paths have crossed, my friend. 🕯️🪞🖤🙏
This reads like a funeral and a forgiveness held in the same breath.
Painful, brave, and necessary—the kind of goodbye that makes room to live.
Yes! Thomas, “a funeral and a forgiveness held in the same breath” stayed with me. That compression is the heart of this piece, and I’m grateful you saw it so clearly, my friend. Much appreciated. 🕯️🪞🖤🙏
Self-analysis of oneself is always a tough task, for every positive there's always ten negatives, and we all know the negatives rule.
Forgive yourself, love yourself, don't let your past define you, all buzz words with merit, but really need expertise to get to the substance of the matter.
This is why I live in blissful denial, and have a no entry sigh for psychiatrists outside my door.
Paul, this made me smile in recognition. There’s humor here, but also a very honest weariness about the work of looking inward. I appreciate you naming both. 🕯️🪞🖤🙏
what beautiful and soul searching inspired introspection - am stunned by the wealth of thoughts it conveys..
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