Oh! It’s Me

“Well, this is sad,” you say with a grin,

“Is this really the life that we’re living in?”

Arms crossed tight, with that look I know,

Like you’ve seen this mess from years ago.

“Wow,” I laugh, “you don’t hold back.”

“Why would I?” you shoot, “you’re off track.”

Same sharp tone, same reckless spark—

Like a match still itching to start a fire in the dark.

“Oh please,” I say, “you’d crash and burn.”

You shrug it off, “Yeah, but I’d learn.

At least I’d feel it—every fall, every climb,

Not sit here pretending I’m fine all the time.”

I roll my eyes, “You were chaos at best.”

You smirk, “Yeah? And you call this progress?”

Touché. I hate how you still land hits—

Like you memorized all my weakest bits.

Then a voice cuts in, cool and dry,

“Oh wow… neither of you even try.”

We both turn fast—there she stands,

Looking at us like poorly made plans.

“Let me guess,” I sigh, “future me?”

She laughs once, “God, I hope not—honestly.”

“You’re both exhausting,” she adds with ease,

“Just different flavors of bad decisions, please.”

Past me scoffs, “At least I felt things through.”

Future me rolls her eyes, “Too much, actually—you.”

“Impulsive, blind, chasing every spark—

You lit every match and called it art.”

“Well at least I cared!” past me snaps back,

“You just went cold and called it tact.”

Future me shrugs, “No, I just see clear—

Not everything loud is something sincere.”

Then both of them—yeah, both—look at me,

Like I’m the glitch in what we should be.

“Well?” past me asks, “What’s your excuse?”

Future me adds, “What’s your use?”

“Stuck in between like a half-done plan,

Not who you were, not who you can.”

I sigh, “I’m trying—okay? That’s real.”

Past me groans, “God, that’s how you feel?”

Future me nods, “It’s weak—but true.

Which, to be fair, is new for you.”

“Wow,” I mutter, “you’re both a lot.”

Past me grins, “Yeah—we forgot?”

Future me smirks, “Relax, you’re fine—

Just painfully average… for our timeline.”

There’s a pause—not warm, not tense,

Just three versions sharing the same offense.

Past me nudges, “Don’t lose my fire.”

Future me adds, “But aim it higher.”

“Don’t believe everything she says,”

“And don’t undo what she once did.”

I look at them—both wrong, both right,

Both too loud in my quiet mind.

“Cool,” I say, “no stress at all.”

“Yeah,” past me laughs, “just don’t fall.”

Future me smirks, “And if you do—

At least make it make sense this time, too.”

Same laugh, split in different ways—

One stuck in now, two out of phase.

And just like that, they fade from view,

But leave behind what I already knew—

I’m not one voice, not one clean line,

But a mix of chaos, doubt, and time.