Ghosts of Older Selves

Peeling back the memory, opening

the door again for the same feelings.

-

The grass is greener whenever under the sun, but

I don’t seem to grow anymore.

-

I rely on the cycles

I created long ago.

-

I swim around in the cold pool

fearing the experience of new air

the grey skies, the wire fences,

online faces,

the digital bodies.

-

You log in, you check in, you log out

you log in, you check out, you log in,

you log out, you check in, you log out,

you view from a distance, repeat

the mantra, pray for a new life

and nothing

ever changes.

-

I wonder if they find me out there, too,

and feel the presence of a hundred ghosts

a thousand older versions of myself, captured

in single lines and awkwardly placed emojis

or if they scroll by a body like mine

late at night.