Permanent Ink

Wed, 08/01/2018 - 12:26 -- eva_koz

I was

Young and dumb

And I wrote in permanent ink.

So my history

With you

Is not only

Stuck on all

Those worn out pages,

But it also bleeds

Effortlessly onto

My fresh, new pages,

The ones that

Weren't supposed to be

Shared with you.

You've impacted

Parts of my life

That you weren't

Even apart of.

If I had

Been a little bit smarter,

I would've

Written in pencil,

So I could've

Erased the mistakes

I made being with you.

At least,

That's what

I used to think.

I don't anymore,

Because erased mistakes

Are mistakes that

I can't learn from,

And erased histories

Are histories that

Will once be forgotten,

And a forgotten history,

Is a missing puzzle piece

Of my generation.

And who wants to

See an incomplete puzzle?

If I really wanted

To forget,

I would've used white-out

On every page

That you occupied.


I didn't want to forget,

I wanted to make it better.


After countless pages

Without you,

I've realized that

The only way to

Make it better

Was to write

Over the ink

That you bled

Onto my pages,

Until I finally got

To the first empty page,

The first page

That I had officially

Gotten over you.


I wish your ink

Were still here,

Not because I still

Wish you were with me,

But because you're still

Impacting me,

As I write my own pages.

You probably don't know,

Or care,

For that matter,

But I still write in pen,

So I never forget

My history,

Along with any,

And all,

Of the mistakes I've made,

That still bleed

Onto every page I write.

This poem is about: 
My family


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