Margins of Me is a poem about regret and healing — a reflection on fifty-eight years of living, learning, and finally forgiving myself. I keep a ledger deep in the dark, Margins filled with each missed mark. Names that shimmer, names that sting, All the what could have been they bring. I traded summers for borrowed light, Sold passion cheap to quiet the fight. Jobs slipped through, trust broke like glass, Love half-given, too quick to pass. In therapy’s chair the mirror spoke: The truths I buried, the vows I broke. Fifty-eight years etched on my skin, Twenty-five lost to silence within. But pages turn, and hands still write, A story can bend, a wound can fight. I’m tired of living by what I lack, Of replaying steps I can’t walk back. I want my voice to name my wins, To claim the sunlight, not the sins. For even regret, as heavy as rain, Can seed the soil and break the chain. So here’s my vow, my ember’s claim: I’ll guard the spark, I’ll feed the flame. Beneath the shame, the pulse still true — A stubborn heart that learns anew.

---

Explore your own emotions through writing at the NoRegrets4u Poetry Studio — a creative AI designed by me that helps you turn emotion into verse, where every feeling can find its voice.