Life has a way of making sure that I
See all my past mistakes come back to haunt me—
The opportunities that I let die,
The wasted love for those who didn’t want me,
The moments that I blew—they all come back
Embodied in new people, to excite
Or terrify me—to show what I lack,
Then make me face it till I get it right.
And I keep asking: am I my life’s fool
Or my life’s king? Are my mistakes repeated
Because they rule me, or are they the tool
I use to test myself till they’re deleted?
I see the strings, but nothing else is clear.
Am I the puppet or the puppeteer?
Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells