redemption song in poetry

Sometimes still I think.

Gimmie back my car.
Gimmie back my memories.
Gimmie back my confidence.
Gimmie back my sense of self.
Gimmie back my youth.
Gimmie back my youth.
Gimmie back my youth.
Gimmie back my
car.

You know.
I think all these things.
I think all these things in a moment of weakness.
But anger.
But blame.
But vengeance.
But the desire to get the things back.
These are quicksand.
They're traps. To draw you down into.
The infinite regression of blame.
Fighting for imaginary things.
Will make you hurt someone else.
And will make you the same.
Then someone else will hurt you.
For being a monster and thief.
It will slowly make them a monster and thief.
It will make someone else angry.
And take their revenge.
And so on.
And so on.
And so on.
And so on.
And so on.
And so on.
Anger and blame.
Are infinite regressions.
You become part of their cycle.
When you play their game.

I release my car.
It wasn't mine.
And it's imaginary anyway.

I release my memories.
I didn't own them.
They were things that just happened.
They are part of the past.
They weren't built to last.
And neither will we.

I release my confidence.
Confidence is a trap.
It's better to just be.
And live while you're alive.
Better to naturally be.
Than artificially thrive.

I release my sense of self.
Because that's only an illusion.
Created by a bunch of atoms briefly spinning in concert.
It will only be here for a little while.
I can't let it cling.
I'm not actually a thing.
Or anyway, at least.
I won't be one for very long.
Either way.
Whether I'm right or I'm wrong.

I release my youth.
I release my youth.
I release my youth.
I release my youth.
My youth wasn't me.
My youth was just a passing phase of me.
Hell, I'm not even me.
I'm just a passing thing myself.
Someday my atoms will no longer agree.
And that will be okay too.
I release my youth.

And I release my car.
It's just a thing.
And anyway.
It's covered in dents because.
Neither of us knew how to parallel park.