Poem: Erasing

Erasing

I erase things, which is
a bad habit, but I do it,
really, I just did it
now, before this,
before what you
are reading now,
I was writing,
a whole long
thing, written out,
longer than this,
and I decided
to let it go,
erased it all,
went back to the start,
but I do not know
now, was it an act
of freeing myself,
a way of letting go,
or something else,
a denial, a refusal
to own something,
to make known
a piece of myself?

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