this is my time

this is my time

to waste

or lavish

as I see fit

so don't tell me

how

time flies when you're having fun

how

it won't wait for anyone

how

the time is ripe

to have the time of your life

I don't need to hear

how I'll make it to the big time

all in due time

because time has already dropped

into my lap

like golden seeds of melon

full and heavy

with potential

so round

they could burst

and I—

I lie back

spit the seeds into the dawn of time

with no more hope that they'll take hold in the sallow dirt

than my decision on my next breath

to close my eyes

and weep

I warned you this wasn't a happy poem,

didn't I?

of course I did!

don't make me come back there

wading through dry sands of time

and change my mind

my memory

your understanding

of the meaning

because I'd do it

you know I would

and wouldn't we both regret it then?

they say you can see clearer

looking backward

well, I hold my mirror up

to see ancient mountains

that fell to boulderous rubble

that became rough rocks

that scraped hands and broke to pebbles

that tumbled downhill

cascading into sands of time in the shape of a mirror

reflecting myself

back out to me

but if it's all an illusion

a circular force of time

how daring it must be

to try to stop the free fall

pull a shard

touch a rock

kick it out to space again

a dangerous folly

yet aptly done

now leave me be

so I can waste some more

on my own time

"this is my time" is a poem by Amber Byers, 2025