My life is this thing
You can crumple like paper
And you can’t see it
You ball it up in your fist
And disregard the consequences
Ignore the tearing sounds
And the red seeping
Between your fingers
Where the ink hasn’t dried
Don’t worry though,
I’ll unfold it myself
And try to smooth the edges
and mend the tears
It’s okay
I understand
It wasn’t important
To you anyway.