i flip the pages
of my life,
back and back and back,
to read my past
not to actually read it,
but to tear the hateful parts

i have never damaged a book,
i worship books as my gods,
but i cut the words :
《 crying eyes,
raging mind,
loving heart,
falling blind,
aching wild,
betrayed bad,
tamed sad,
choked to death,
fakes smiles,
making walls
around her mind,
hearts chopped,
finger crossed
didn't help this time,
trying to forget,
he sung those rhymes,
hated brat,
barking cat,
plumpy fat,
oh god, she left,
"weak she was"
they find 》

but they don't disappear,
so i burn the book
of my own life,
but it lives on,
so i tear it bad,
but seems like
it's a stubborn badass

but i try again,
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
but i fail and then
i think if i can
try to destroy,
i can surely create

so i close the book,
like a big girl
and be the
stubborn badass instead,
and now i face the world,
because what happens
is destroyingly rigid,
but then what i am
is scarcely timid.