Stuck
Every so often,
I cut my bangs before I even give them the chance to grow
I move around the decorations in my room but never throw anything away
I listen to that song you played for me even though it makes me sad
I write with the pen you gave me for my birthday just to feel something you touched
I close my eyes and remember what I have tried so hard to forget.
I keep going in cycles with you and it makes me sick.
This poem is about:
Me