Pinocchio

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