you remind me of the poem i wrote before i became confident in my writing, the one traced in smudged black-inked scribbles, soaked in tears, lathered in self-doubt that i crumpled up and threw away
and just like that paper lying in a state of disarray, no matter how many stanzas i write that outcompete that one i still see you hiding in the corner reminding me of my mistakes and naivety
i see you and i remember i can pick you up and try to fix you to make you into something that it meaningful to me again but it would be no use because your substance is still there and i cannot make a miracle out of a disaster
i wish i could pick you up and light the words you spoke on fire
i wish you were as temporary as a piece of paper
but you're a million sentences i've written that i'll never understand
you are the words i have not learned
you are the poem i started to write but never finished
you are the mistake i will never forget