Free Verse

I was called a goldfish,

With a poor memory

That tends to forget

What it is and then look at it from a new perspective.

It could be from the adolescent

Years of practice of storing

trauma in a brain closet,

Shoving in shame and rejection

buried under the weight of depression.

Maybe it’s living in a society that’s schizophrenic.

Where there is a lost of connection,

controlled by entertainment,

I’m easily distracted.

Watered down by acts of violence,

Isn’t that a sign of ptsd?

When you forget and forgive the enemy,

When you learn to not bite the hand that feeds,

Even if it’s poison and greed,

What if it was passed down to me.

Maybe I rather see a better view,

And pick another if I choose,

Flip it around and decide if I like it better now.

It’s easier to let go

When you do it quick with your eyes close.

Dont think about how it hurt.

Let it roll off me.

Maybe the lack of memory

Is actually a benefit to my sanity.

To edit, cut, and delete the scene,

Before it play out on repeat

instead of the swing of anxiety.

Maybe the lack of memory

Is actually a benefit to my sanity.

Leaving what I don’t need.

Or it could be simple.

Maybe I smoke too much weed.

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