• Thomas Kam

To My Imagined Self

I see you old,

Your boy on your knee,

Watching him grow like the orange trees.


I see you climbing a mountain into a sky

Blue like childish eyes,

A breath against the wind,

A dream that will not die,

Screaming:


I am here, I am alive!


I see my friends growing older,

Slowly forgetting me;

Becoming a bad memory,

A topic to be avoided in polite company.


Beautiful white rooms,

The smell of hospital floors,

The press of a cold pillow,

The breeze of a closing door.


Billboards being painted over,

People on the bus complaining,

Day by day, just like that,

Like nothing has changed.


I’m not afraid of the pain.

I’m afraid of my unnamed child.

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