Old Photo Albums

by marmaladescreams

I wander through
Old photo albums
As if they’re graveyards
Of ribbons and stuck-out tongues,
Memories attached with
Used bubblegum.
Staring at the faces of all the
People who used to care,
I’ve never felt more alone
And if I cry it’s because you
Aren’t there
When I look around
And god it just isn’t fair.
Because, you see, I don’t
Know what I did,
Don’t know what drove you all away,
But I know that you’re what
I needed
To avoid ending up this way.
I flip through photo after photo,
Always searching for the
Same thing:
That I fit with these people,
that this person’s really me.
You all say you want to know
Where you come from,
But knowing that
The horrible little things
You hate about yourself are
Natural, passed down,
Doesn’t mean that you can change,
And even if you see the sadness coming,
You can’t always stop the pain.
Because is there a difference
Between tribal masks
And photographs,
When it’s all worship in the end?
And do the albums tell the truth
When I’ve scribbled over them in pen?

By Mo Fowler