Sunday, November 17, 2019

Poem: November 17, 2019

Cringe

What is the point of
an honest reckoning
of the self? All these

memories of foolish,
thoughtless moments.
Unintended cruelties

attach themselves to
the mind, hard and
rough as concrete.

Fossils of narratives
we abandon, but can't
erase. Unlovely. Itchy.

Not even so terrible,
except they tell stories
you wouldn't tell yourself.



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