A new chapter of existence

Is said to start with blank white pages,

But my pages are already soiled

And they have been for ages.

I wish I had taken time before

To peruse the leafs to come.

Perhaps I could have had some warning

Of what my ink need overcome.

The pressure of pen on chapter one

even now shows its indentations,

And writing over experiences past

Is hard with these uneven pages.

Reminders of all that’s come and gone

keep my blossoms in their buds,

And it’s so much harder to branch out 

when I’m rooted in this mud.