Just now

I searched and searched

For two poems I had written

That I feared I had lost

So I found them and read them

And I realized they weren’t very good

Not nearly as good

as they were in my memory

They were a little sloppy

Not as nuanced as I remembered

And I wonder now

If that is just the way it goes with me

That nothing is as good

As I remember it to be

Or is it just as good

But I can’t be pleased

Is it like this with everyone

Probably not

Some people think they can sing

Even when they cannot

Then others know they have no talent

Some people look back on their work

And can see brilliance

Or lackluster

They have a pretty firm grip

On the facts of the matter

And I believe this is me, most of the time

Except when I look at what I’ve written