Before the World Intruded by Michele Rosenthal

Return me to those infant years,
before I woke from sleep,

when ideas were oceans crashing,
my dreams blank shores of sand.

Transport me fast to who I was
when breath was fresh as sight,

my new parts — unfragmented —
shielded faith from unkind light.

Draw for me a figure whole, so different
from who I am. Show me now

this picture: who I was

when I began.

Myself

I am in a constant battle with myself. I still hope that someday I can think good  things about myself.

I know it's not about myself, but I still have to live with myself.

So I don't quite know how to love myself.

I often don't know the whole truth about myself, I can't understand myself.

I over think myself. I constantly fight with myself.

I see myself punching my own self. And sometimes I don't want to be myself anymore.

I lie to myself that everything is going to be ok. But when hope and love don't exist within,  myself feels broken.

Myself feels forgotten inside it's own mind. And no one realizes that I am not myself for a long time.

I Loved You by Alexander Pushkin

I loved you; and perhaps I love you still, 
The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet 
It burns so quietly within my soul, 
No longer should you feel distressed by it. 
Silently and hopelessly I loved you, 
At times too jealous and at times too shy. 
God grant you find another who will love you 
As tenderly and truthfully as I.