Tabula Rasa

Mistakes clutter my past in piles of trash.

Like shattered glass in overgrown grass—

Though not apparent at a first glance,

Whenever given the slightest chance

My mistakes will rudely raise their voices

To publicize my regrettable choices.

And in the past, I let them speak,

Considering myself much too weak

To combat the phantoms of my past,

Because I thought those phantoms were made to last.

But I’ve gathered a bit of precious truth

That will carry me through the rest of my youth:

A mistake’s intention is to teach, not taunt,

So I no longer allow mine to linger and haunt.

Choosing to leave my past at the gate,

I’m left with nothing but a nice blank slate.

Potential opens like a brand new book,

And shooting me an enticing look,

Declares that tomorrow is mine for the taking.

So I turn to my brain and start doing some raking.

Possibilities surround me in an endless blue sky,

A thousand experiences for me to go try.

My heart buzzes with wild anticipation

As my lips curl up with pink elation.

Tomorrow will be floating through flowers

And sitting under the sun for a handful of hours.

On Thursday I’ll trek to the top of the Earth

And finally learn what happiness is worth.

Friday’s a day for reading at home,

But I’ll surely spend Saturday racing through Rome.

Tomorrow’s a day that hasn’t begun,

And I think I’m ready to take it and run.

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