Skeletons in the Closet

There is nothing under my skin
but fragile bones and fleeting dreams —
a sad excuse for a human
I don’t want you to look at me long enough to see through me
I’m made of mistakes, missed opportunities, and regret
Regret for leaving people to be who I am now
I could hear them saying,
“Was it all worth it?”

I don’t know.

But I’m afraid to wake up in forty years and look in the mirror
only to hate the person living inside this skeleton
The person with ruptured bones and perished dreams—
a sad excuse for a human
I would turn away;
I could not look at myself long enough
Because I would know with the emptiness of the four corners I call home,
It wasn’t