People who use others are like struggling artists.
Constantly using a eraser just to draw someone just right, just perfect.
Not stopping until the eraser is all worn out by your attempts of trying to create that perfect person.
But yet it's useless now..
So you go get another one to replace it and continue like a endless loop.
When will you get that perfect person if there is no one perfect in this world? It will never happen, it's just a endless loop, eraser to eraser.
Context: this poem was about people who use you for stuff like your body or even try to make you perfect in their image, even though this poem does not include other things people will use you for like money, power, etc. It's all just about people using others
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetrythese are just poems, not a story but I am a writer as well just not always a book writer
