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Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson

I would’ve worn the white dress
I had it right there in my closet,
The one I used to play pretend in
As a child.

I could’ve had a daughter
But her dad couldn’t stay sober.
Now, the only place we see him
Is our dreams.

I should’ve been a teacher.
I’ve always been the most curious creature.
Maybe I’d’ve done something that meant something
With my days.

It’s hard to be here right now
Where I can’t drown out the sound,
As the would’ve, could’ve, should’ves
Take all of the strength out of me.

Written August 23, 2024
© 2024 Kelly Ann Wilson

Style / type: 
Free verse
Last few words: 
Read my writer’s blog at https://kwilsonarts.wordpress.com
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Regrets are a fact of life. We try to have as few as possible. I much liked your poem stating yours. My favorite lines are:

I should’ve been a teacher.
I’ve always been the most curious creature.
Maybe I’d’ve done something that meant something
With my days.

Good work, *hugs, Cat

*
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And responds, please be courteous
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Kelly Ann,
I know the feeling!
What I like the most about the poem, is how you provide very specific images - the white dress, the drunk father, being a teacher - but there is room to fill in the gaps. My imagination is working. I am especially curious about the line -- I could have had a daughter, as if she doesn't exist, but then you talk as if she does - we only see him in our dreams. As if you and her both are sort of imaginary lifeforms. As if you would rather be with her - the daughter that doesn't exist, living in another world together with her. You'd rather be there, playing pretend again like when you were a child. It feels that way when I read this. Very powerful.

that I was confused as to why you refer to the daughter as being [could've], and then as the Captain says, as being a reality.
Maybe just the way you said it, but I think you can do better at explaining it. A pensive look at a few regrets. ~ Geez.
.

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