on edge.
no doubt, the words dont match whats in my head
forcing myself to put down thoughts that dont exist
when there will always be something that i miss
i used to think pictures were for memories
never realizing they materialize my heart
as if what i feel isnt enough
and tears all of what i do remember apart
and i used to think that i did this for me
never realizing that it was to prove others i can bleed
and showcase who i am and what i lack
as if without my writing, i couldnt breathe
but now im noticing, that i am content
with no desire to throw that in your face
no desire to write poetry
to keep words and commemorate.
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