A Poem About Not Wanting To Remember

My life was my book, every word scribbled onto the pages were memories in my mind, every letter was a choice I decided to make and every page turned was a new day full of old experiences, it wasn’t a printed book, It was handwritten, perfect for me to chaotically scribble every mistake I made and cross out the things I didn’t want to remember. But no matter how many lines were crossed over the thin sheet it was never enough to erase them, so I decided that I’d had enough. My book hadn’t been finished but I was done with remembering, I’d closed the chapter and told myself I’d never look at that ink again, because I was afraid if I smudged it, it’d be left on my skin forever.