Going Back to Being Me
By Joyce Reid

If I could turn back the pages of time
And skip to any chapter my fancy chose,
I would flip past well worn edges
With margins filled with side notes
And trace my fingers gently over
Lines blurred and rippled by tears,
And then slowly I would erase the years
Which the spinning of this globe
And the rotation of the stars has
Caused to place upon my frame,
And I would once again become
A little girl.

And every ache and every pain
Would be soothed by the gentle lull
Of my mother’s quiet song
And the secure embrace
Of my daddy rocking me
In his big blue chair.

No more would anxiety plague me,
No more would stress become a part of me.
I would be little again;
I would be free.

And the endless tug of regret and loneliness
Would fall from my face and with it
Would fade the lines of worry
Now etched so boldly on my forehead.

I would never again know the chime
Of clock bells not my own
Which tell me when and where to go
And scream with endless furry
The hour and the rhyme of every day.

I hate this being a big girl thing.
I wish I could go back to being little;
I wish I could go back to being me.