There is a place 

Where I can travel back 

To the past me 

 

Inside the woods 

Decorated greenery

Stands a totem 

 

A totem of me 

The different versions 

Of my past self 

 

At the very bottom

Is the youngest of myself

Happy, gullible

 

Above that another 

A more mature, yet not wise 

But soon dying off 

 

As we keep rising

The cycle continues on 

One dying, one born 

 

Carved of mistakes 

Younger me felt very awkward 

But now I’m grateful 

 

I look back happy 

Happy with my discrete self 

Admiring my past 

 

Things I got wrong 

The things I created 

Things I learned from 

 

They make up myself 

I can’t help but look back 

And smile to myself