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Writing Over My Past
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On Poetry My past is permanent;
I can regret it,
but it remains unchanged.
It is written in pen
with smudges and bleeding ink.
I can only
blot out the mistakes,
but the scars still linger.
The past is not marked by pencil~
easily erased
by the dust of time...
that is, unless
the memories fade...
and I’m left with
a blank sheet on which
to rewrite history.
