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.
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