A Poem a Day (749): You on repeat

 
You on repeat
 
You were supposed to turn up on time.
You were meant to end each line with a rhyme.
 
You were fated to turn tomorrow upside down.
You were meant to greet each day without a frown.
 
You shifted the energy when you walked in a room.
You swept up the dark with the back of a broom.
 
You were the one to joke and wear glitter.
You were the one who trained to get fitter.
 
You were the one the other kids looked up to.
You were the only one the older kids knew.
 
You were always telling the tallest stories.
You were the answer to everyone’s worries.
 
You got older, drove too fast, lived a little too wild.
You never wore a sword, never needed a shield.
 
You forgot the names of your fans you met.
You met me, but my face was one you’d forget.
 
You were the artist, the writer, the talker.
You were the beginning, the end, the Faulkner.
 
You acted in this lifetime like you were out of tune.
You’d already lived nine lives before the strike of noon.
 
You enjoyed it all too much to protect your own hide.
You forgot to click your belt for that daring last ride.
 
You held the globe in your hand for an endless time.
You didn’t know the world would make you pay a fine.
 
You held up a mirror for others to discern their flaw.
You noticed not everyone liked what they saw.
 
You were meant to leave quietly, unnoticed.
You weren’t meant to leave a note that grimaced.
 
You were the one everyone wanted to be.
You weren’t meant to be the one that couldn’t see.
 
You lost your way trying to find how everything gels.
You forgot you can’t save yourself and everyone else.
 
Vickie Johnstone, July 14, 2026